


What the Water Gave Me

by difficultheart



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Bludhaven is a Hellhole, Body Horror, Eventual Romance, F/M, Gratuitous Ukranian and Russian, Investigative Journalism is Badass, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Organized Crime, POV Second Person, Past Barbara Gordon/Dick Grayson, Romani Dick Grayson, Slavic Mythology & Folklore - Freeform, Slow Burn, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2020-07-10 13:50:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 26
Words: 112,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19906747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/difficultheart/pseuds/difficultheart
Summary: 'cause she's a cruel mistress, and the bargain must be madebut oh, my love don't forget mewhen i let the water take me...You were supposed to be dead. Something lurking in the dark Bludhaven waters had other ideas. Trying to make sense of the new being living inside of you and your slow metamorphosis into something else, you reluctantly team up with Nightwing to take down the Ukrainian mobsters responsible for your death.





	1. The Killing Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The killing moon  
>  Will come too soon_
> 
> chapter warnings: mild body horror, vomiting

Washed up on the shore of Fear Cay, you vomited great bouts of water and knew that you were supposed to be dead. The sun was just beginning to rise, the smoggy skies of Blüdhaven turning a sickly rust color. Your stomach clenched and you coughed up one last mouthful of bile before pushing yourself up onto your hands and knees. A dull ache had settled into your heavy limbs, a faded memory of the pain that had come before. You wiped at your mouth with the back of your hand, grimacing. There was a cold that permeated your bones, making you shake as you forced yourself to your feet.

_You should have been dead._

Wet clothes clung to your skin as you slowly walked towards the city. Even after your impromptu swim in the bay, you had a large blood stain blooming across the front of your shirt. Still, you knew very few people would even bat an eye at your appearance. You had seen weirder before, everyone in Blüdhaven had. Even if you had grown extra limbs and were on fire, no one would have spared a second glance. Barefoot and shivering, you made your way to the rail terminal. By some continued stroke of weird luck, your wallet was still in your back pocket and you were able to scan your rail pass without any issue.

_You were supposed to be dead._

You got off at the Woolrich Avenue stop, your brain kicking into force of habit to keep from assessing what had happened to you the night before. Steps still slow and painful, you moved purely off muscle memory and routine. Right at St Bernadine’s church, three blocks down, left one block, up the steps to your little rental house. Key under the doormat, hip bumping into the door when it stuck to knock it open. Rusty hinges screamed as you closed the door behind you, dim light already filtering through the thin curtains of your living room. The puppy came trotting up to you, apparently unaware or uncaring of your state in her quest for pets. You obliged, wincing when you saw the blood and grit left in her soft, thick fur.

“I’m sorry, girl,” you said. Your voice was thick and rasping, like you had spent all night gargling nails and razorblades. The sound of it made you wince again, your throat raw and stinging.

_You should be dead at the bottom of the ocean._

The puppy let out a tentative whine, paws tapping against the floor in an anxious little dance. You trudged across the living room, through the kitchen, through the laundry room to open the back door and let her out into the sparse yard. Watching her spin in excited circles before finding the optimum pee spot, the entire night came crashing back down on you.

_Why weren’t you dead?_

Letting your knees give out, you sat heavily on the backstep and cradled your head in your hands. A horrendous ache was building in your temples, spreading to the base of your skull. Tears pricked at your eyes.

_Dead, murdered, killed, sleeping with the fishes, rotting at the bottom of the sea, food for the sharks._

The ache spread to your jaw, molars throbbing with the pain. A whine worked its way out of you, the first tears rolling down your cheeks. You were glad that you had managed to make it home before having your breakdown, but you’d hoped to postpone the freak out indefinitely. No such luck. The streak ended as you hugged your knees to your chest and sobbed.

_The bullet ripped through your chest, pierced one of the fragile arteries around your heart. Another shot through your gut, another through your knee. A final round through your throat. Hot, searing pain cooled by the cold embrace of the ocean as you fell._

A cold, wet nose nudged at your elbow. The dog whined and pressed into your side, tucking her head under your arm to lick at your face. A wet, laughing sob escaped you. A dead girl and her unnamed dog.

“It’s okay,” you rasped. Straightening, you let her crawl into your lap and carded your fingers through her warm fur. “It’s okay, girl.”

God, what a lie. Everything was so far from okay that you may as well have been in a separate universe from whatever passed for okay. The not-okay-and-in-denial universe was where you currently sat. How could you come back from what had happened? How were you supposed to process it? Still scratching the dog behind her ears, you brought shaking fingers to the column of your throat. Instead of a gaping, bloody wound, you felt rough scar tissue. It was impossible. Shifting the dog in your lap, you pulled down the collar of your shirt. Puckered scar tissue just over your heart. Another scar over the wound in your gut. Another scar where you’d been shot in the knee.

“What the fuck,” you whispered. “What the actual, flying fuck?”

Something shifted inside of you. You couldn’t explain what it was, but it shifted all the same. Like a switch being flipped, a quiet thing pressing against your skin. The ache got worse and you whimpered again, the dog hopping out of your lap and running inside. A pain spread down to your bones, a stretching of your very self. Dragging yourself to your feet, you stumbled back inside and just managed to make it to the bathroom before you fell to your knees and vomited into the tub. It seemed endless, burning the back of your throat and stinging at your eyes as you retched and retched and retched. You slumped when it was finally done, feeling hollowed out, vision blurred with tears. Breathing harsh and labored, you wiped at your face and blanched when you saw the inside of the tub.

Black, shining ichor. Some foul-smelling goo had been expelled from your body, streaked through with dark blood. Your stomach churned at the sight, empty as it was. Movements clumsy and limbs numb, you turned on the tub in an attempt to clean out whatever had just come out of you. The dog barked somewhere else in the house. You stood on weak, shaking legs and turned on the sink to wash the grime from your hands. Sand and blood and back gunk swirled down the drain, hypnotic as you watched it wash away. The dog barked again. Shaking yourself from your trance, you splashed your face with cold water. When you looked up, a different you watched you in the mirror. Startling back from the reflection, you rubbed your eyes and blinked rapidly before looking again. A normal reflection stared back at you: color drained from your skin, eyes heavy and bloodshot, lips chapped and raw. You sighed, shuffling out of the bathroom for the time being.

There was a knock at the door. You startled, bumping into the dog as she continued barking. Your heart raced, fear running hot in your veins. Another knock and the dog moved to stand in front of you, growling. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you pressed a hand over your chest. _Dead girl with a racing heart._ Impossible and terrifying. Realizing you were still in bloody, dripping clothes, you cleared your throat and spoke as loudly as you could.

“Just a second!” Your voice cracked painfully, stinging at the volume. “Just… Just a second!”

Stumbling into your bedroom, you peeled off your ruined shirt and shorts. Left in a little pile on the floor, you rushed to the closet and threw on the first shirt and jeans you found. Hoping there wasn’t too much gunk in your hair or on your skin, you nearly tripped in your rush to get to the door. You picked up the puppy, her barks quieting as you tucked her under your arm and swung the door open.

“Whoa.” Your neighbor blinked at you, taken off guard by your appearance. “You sounded bad, but you look terrible.”

“Oh. Um.” God, did you sound even worse? The puppy squirmed in your grip, tail wagging as she tried to get at the man standing on your front porch. “Rough night.”

“I thought so.” He looked you over and you felt hot shame flush your skin. _Of course your hot neighbor came over after you threw up a gallon of gunk into your tub._ “I saw you walking back here. You looked rough, so I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’ve been better,” you admitted. Giving up, you set the puppy down so she could run in eager circles at your feet. “Also been worse. Uh, thanks for checking up.”

“No problem.” Kneeling, he gave the puppy a scratch behind the ears. You realized he had dimples when he smiled. “Honestly, I’ve been looking for an excuse to say hi to your dog, too.”

A startled laugh escaped you, making you wince. Your throat seemed somehow more raw than just a moment before. Clearing it again, you placed your hand on your chest and counted each rhythmic beat of your heart. _You’re alive, you’re alive, you’re alive._

“You’re welcome to come see her any time,” you said. “Probably good for her to socialize with someone other than me, um…”

_Oh fuck, you forgot his name._

Showing you mercy you surely didn’t deserve, he turned that devastating grin on you. “Richard Grayson. My friends call me Dick.”

“Right… Dick.” Old fashioned, but he was so good looking of course he could pull it off. “Sorry, my memory is just the worst. I would appreciate her jumping all over someone other than me, Dick.”

“I’ll take you up on the offer, then.” He winked at you. _He winked at you._ Your supermodel-hot neighbor winked at your gross, somehow-not-dead ass. “Sounds like you’ve got a bath running, so I’ll leave you alone. Just wanted to check in on you.”

Oh, right. The bath. You needed a hot shower. Reality set in and you wished you’d stayed at the bottom of the ocean. You had to be at work in just under a couple of hours.

“Thank you,” you said. The puppy ambled back inside and you shifted from one foot to the other. “I, uh. I appreciate it. I’ll… see you later then?”

Lame. So, so lame. You almost winced. But he just kept smiling and nodded.

“See you later. Take care of yourself, yeah? If you need anything, you know where I’m at.” He hooked his thumb over his shoulder at the house he lived in across the street. “I’m happy to help any time.”

“I appreciate it. Um, Dick.” You forced a weak smile and waved as he headed back across the street.

Closing the door with a shriek on its hinges, you leaned against it and heaved a heavy sigh. You pressed your forehead to the cool wood, closing your eyes. All of it was just too much. But even if you did tell your boss “hey, I got shot last night and thrown into the ocean, can I have a day off?” you had no chance in hell of getting away with taking a day. Deadlines loomed over everyone, your current project needing to get done ASAP. There was no way it could get shoved back and even less of a chance that your boss wouldn’t fire you if you didn’t show up. Night from hell or not, you had to be there.

“Right,” you mumbled. “Hot shower first. Coffee next. Then you can figure out what the hell happened.”

\---

The Blüdhaven Chronicle offices were in the central business district, across the street from the courthouse and just two blocks away from the mayor’s office. Your desk was positioned near a window that looked out over towards the docks, high enough that you could see the smog from the city’s industrial district swirl in your line of sight. You had barely made it to work on time (the gunk hadn’t been easy to clean out and you’d had to shower fast), a fresh cup of coffee steaming on the desk in front of you. Staring at it, you tried to sort out the previous night in your head.

_You went to the docks just past 2 am. It had been important. You’d needed to talk to him, try to get him to see reason._

How long had you been in the water? The conversation you’d had definitely hadn’t lasted hours and you’d regained consciousness on the shore before the break of dawn. Closing your eyes, you rubbed at your temples and tried to dredge up more memories.

_Blood in the water. Salt stinging your wounds, screams bubbling to the surface. World fading, darkness encroaching. Heart breaking. A movement in the dark waters._

“You look like shit.”

You barely managed to bite back a scream as you whipped around to see your boss glaring down at you. Jonathan Law was an imposing man, even on his good days. Unfortunately, you could tell he was not having one of them. A muscle in his jaw ticked and you offered a sheepish smile.

“Late night chasing a lead,” you rasped. God, you still sounded terrible. “Got a little out of hand.”

That got his attention. Irritation melted into concern in the blink of an eye and his voice dropped. Law was an imposing man, but he wasn’t cruel or inconsiderate.

“How out of hand?” he asked.

“Maybe we should talk in your office,” you said.

His frown deepened. Making sure to take your coffee with you, you followed him into his office. He shut the door behind you before walking around his desk and sitting down. You stayed standing, fingers tightening around the mug as he folded his hands in front of him.

“It’s worse than I thought,” you told him. You cleared your throat, taking a sip of coffee before continuing. “Went to talk to my… source. Just wanted to get clarification on a few things, but we were interrupted.”

“Who was it?” No beating around the bush. You both knew the story. Law leaned forward in his chair.

“Tiger Shark.” You shuddered, remembering the razor-sharp teeth glinting in the moonlight. “He had a detective with him. I didn’t recognize him, but I’d bet he’s from Vice or Major Crimes.”

“Shit.” Law ran his hands over his face. You let him sit in the new information for a moment, chewing on your lip. “How the hell did you get out?”

You hadn’t gotten out. Not really. _Killed and betrayed and dumped in the ocean to be forgotten._ Something in you bristled at the thought, jaw clenching. You took a deep breath, tamping the sudden surge of anger back down. That could be unpacked later. But you couldn’t tell the editor-in-chief that you’d been killed-but-not-really. Not only would you be pulled from the story, he’d likely ship you off somewhere for treatment. You weren’t crazy. You had a new scar under the scarf wrapped loosely around your throat to prove it.

“My source pulled his shots,” you lied. “I made it look like he’d hit me and jumped into the bay.”

“Fucking hell, Koshka.” He shook his head, ignoring the way you flinched at his tone and his use of your last name. “This is getting too real, you need to—”

“I’ll have a draft on your desk after lunch,” you interrupted. “Just enough of a story to light a fire under their asses.”

Law narrowed his eyes. You could see his thought process, the risks and losses being calculated. It was a big story. The kind that could change things. Ukranian gangs smuggling illegal weapons and engaging in human trafficking on the docks was one thing. The involvement of a crime lord from outside Blüdhaven and a cop turned it into something very different. For weeks you had been gathering information, putting together a story that would drag the Ukranians out of the shadows and into the spotlight. It was personal.

“Koshka.” Law’s voice was soft as he placed his hands palm-down on his desk and looked you in the eye. “You’re a good reporter. It took balls for you to take this story. Are you really sure you want to keep going?”

“I’m sure.” You drew yourself up, chin held at a defiant angle. Even if you were exhausted and confused and dead-but-not-really, you weren’t going to stop. “I got shot at by my brother, Mr. Law. The Malina took him from my family. I’m not going to rest until they’re destroyed.”

It hurt to admit out loud. Your own older brother had shot you, had looked you in the eye as the first bullet ripped through you. Your blood, your family, the last person you had. At first you had dug up the story to try to get him out of the life. Now you would write it to take him down with the rest of them. Your parents were six feet under back in Ukraine. Their hearts had been broken the day he’d left and they’d died thinking their son was a monster. One final act of vengeance. Maybe that was what had kept you alive.

 _Vengeance._ A voice echoed in your head, soft and certain. It was not your own. _Vengeance. Blood for blood. Let the waters run red._

“Have it on my desk before the end of the day.” Law’s voice snapped you back, the voice still echoing at the back of your mind. “And be careful.”

“Yes, sir.” Feeling unsteady on your feet, you gave him a small nod before leaving his office.

Fighting back a new wave of nausea and dizziness, you shuffled back to your desk and sat down heavily. Fractured memories from the night before surfaced as you pulled up your working draft and began to type.

_Sharp teeth flashing in the moonlight. Gleaming metal. The thieves’ code. The smell of gunpowder. Muzzle flashes. Blood in your mouth. A shadow in the water and a cold touch to your throat._

_“Please,” you screamed to your brother. “Please, мій брат, don’t do this!”_

_A cold stare, eyes that you had once recognized stripped of all compassion._

The screen stared back at you as you stopped typing. You were close to being done, just a few more touches and the story would be done. But the nausea was getting worse. Trying to look as casual as possible, you power walked to the bathroom and locked the door behind you. Knees hitting the linoleum, you closed your eyes and took a deep breath.

“Please,” you whispered. “Not right now. Just a few more hours, that’s all I ask.”

A sharp pain in your stomach made you whimper, fingers clutched at your shirt. Even the bagel you’d shoved down earlier didn’t seem to make a dent in the twisting, ravenous hunger you felt. Your teeth ached, a hot pain in your jaw as it clenched. A cold sweat broke out on your skin, your pupils dilated. You were dead. You were dying. They would find your body in the bathroom and all your work would be for nothing.

 _Not yet. Not fucking yet._ Snarling, you pushed yourself off the floor. Your legs shook, hands braced on the sink to keep yourself standing. Nails scraped against the porcelain. You took another deep, steadying breath and looked in the mirror.

A monstrous version of you stared back. The reflection’s eyes glowed an eerie green, pupils dark slits. The teeth bared were razor sharp, rows of them crowding the mouth. Your scarf had loosened, and the reflection had scaled skin were the bullet had torn through, gills just visible at the sides of the neck. When you reached up to touch your face, the reflection mimicked the movement, revealing nails replaced by long black claws and stripes of dark scales running up the arm. The reflection’s hair was damp, seaweed and pieces of glass tangled in it.

“Who are you?” you whispered. The reflection did not mirror the words.

Instead, the other you smiled, baring more of their sharp teeth and cracking their chapped lips. Instead of blood, a thick black ichor oozed from the crack in the skin. The reflection pressed a hand to the other side of the mirror, leaning close. When they spoke, you heard the soft, hissing voice in your head.

 _Vengeance,_ the reflection said. The word was melodic, sweet to your tired, strained soul. _We found you. We smelled the fury in your blood._

“I’m going crazy.” You shook your head, squeezing your eyes shut. So many impossible things happened. Too many. You had a job to do, a story to write. “Not right now, please.”

When you opened your eyes, your own reflection stared back at you. The monstrous version was gone, slipped back into the hungry twisting of your guts. Splashing your face with water, you did your best to collect yourself. You said you would have the story on Law’s desk by the end of the day. So, you would put aside whatever crazy shit was happening. And you would write that story, even if it killed you.

\---

The draft was on Jonathan Law’s desk at 5 sharp. He didn’t say a word as he picked up the story, frown growing as he took you in. You had caught a chill at some point during the day, shivering violently as you stood in front of him. Pale and drawn, you wrapped your arms around yourself. The sandwich you’d scarfed down for lunch had done nothing to sate your new hunger. It had only made it worse, a hollow pain that radiated through to your bones. You looked like shit, and your editor’s scowl said it was worse than you thought.

“Go home,” he finally said. “Take tomorrow off and go to the doctor.”

“But sir—” you started.

“If I have any revisions I want you to make, I’ll email them to you. You can work on them at home.” Law held up a hand when you started to argue again. “You look like death warmed over, Koshka. I’ll expect you to come back here on Monday back at 100%.”

There was no point in arguing. You would have the next day and the weekend to figure out what the hell was happening to you. At least at your house, only the puppy would be witness to whatever freakish illness you’d come down with. You gave in, offering only a small nod as an answer before leaving his office. Shame and guilt weighed heavy on your shoulders. You’d fucked up, made a stupid move and gotten yourself sort-of-but-not-really killed. Gotten yourself infected with something that kept you from your job. If you didn’t get a fifty-page email eviscerating your writing in the morning, you’d be surprised. With the hunger-fever distracting you, you doubted that the story was your best work. Retrieving your backpack from your desk and ignoring the piercing gazes of curious co-workers, you left the building.

The ride back on the bus was a blur. You’d dug out your headphones, staring out the window as Max Barskih’s voice washed over you. It had been years since you’d left the country, but you still found yourself gravitating towards Ukrainian musicians. Even when they sang in Russian, it was a small dose of home when you heard their voices. Odessa had been so heavily Russian speaking that you’d grown up speaking two different languages at home and at school. When your stop came, you did not take off the headphones. Instead, you continued listening as you walked to your house. Let someone come up and try to mug you. The only thing they’d get for their troubles was vomit on their shoes, given how nauseous you still were. But you remained unbothered the rest of the way. Digging your keys out of your backpack, you unlocked the door and froze.

The puppy was not there waiting for you.

Pushing the headphones down to hang around your neck, you dropped your backpack and closed the door behind you. The dog was always there waiting for you. She still was not running up to greet you. You reached for the phone in your back pocket, pausing the music so you could pull up 911. Just in case. After all, you had been murdered just the night before. Ignoring the amplified intensity of the twisting in your guts, you slowly made your way into the kitchen.

A man in a black costume with neon blue accents and a mask sat at the table, scratching your dog behind her ears. The dog looked up when you came in, barking happily. The little traitor. The man looked up and you braced yourself. Was he going to shoot you? Stab you, slit your throat? Surely, he’d come to finish the job. Instead, he smiled and stood up.

“Sorry, I went ahead and let myself in. Your dog is really friendly,” the masked man said.

“Who the fuck are you?” you demanded. Keeping an eye on him, you edged around the kitchen towards the knife block. Just in case. “Why are you in my house?”

“Right.” He sighed, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. “Sometimes I forget people don’t know me here. I’m Nightwing. I’m here because of what happened at the docks last night.”

Oh, shit. Your fingers closed around a knife and you brought it up in front of you. Sweat broke out on your forehead again, a chill running through you. If he knew what happened at the docks, then did he know about what had happened to you? Did he know that you were a dead girl walking?

“Are you here to kill me?” Your voice was still rough and raspy, weak from the sheer exhaustion. How long had it been since you’d slept? You were so tired. So hungry and so tired.

“Whoa, no!” Looking surprised, he took a small step back. “I’m definitely not—”

“My brother sent you,” you rasped. You felt weak, dizzy. The knife wavered in your hands. “He knew I lived, and he sent you to finish the job.”

“Wait, hold up.” This time he took a step towards you, ignoring the small wave of the knife you made in a pathetic attempt at a threat. “Your brother? Are you saying Anatoli Orlov is your brother?”

“Don’t play stupid,” you spat. Your fingers felt numb. The knife fell from them with a clatter and you pressed a hand to your temple. So dizzy. “Don’t… don’t play that game with me.”

“I didn’t know, honest.” The man took another step towards you, one hand reaching out towards you. “Listen, Miss Koshka, you’re sick. Let me help you.”

“Don’t touch me!” The scream shredded your throat further as you flinched away from him. “I’m not stupid! Anatoli sent you here to kill me since he couldn’t manage to. He wants to silence me, but I won’t let him.”

A wave of nausea hit you and your knees buckled. Strong arms caught you before you hit the floor, wound around your waist. Your vision blurred but you still pushed weakly at the man’s chest. He did not let you go, instead holding you against him. You willed your stomach to spill up its contents, but it, too, proved to be traitorous. After a brief, weak struggle, you gave in and let him hold you up.

“It’s okay,” he said. His voice was so gentle, for a man who had broken into your home. He smelled good, too. Like citrus and musk. The hunger intensified and your hands curled into fists against the blue emblem on his chest. “I’m going to get you help, okay?”

“Принаймні я помру від рук прекрасної людини,” you murmured. You were delirious, with fever and with hunger, thanks to the push to get the story in. That was all the reflection had been, a fever dream. Perhaps you should accept this kinder fate. “Принаймні зробити це швидко.”

The man’s grip on you tightened for a second before he lifted you in his arms. Your head lolled against his shoulder, eyes unfocused as he carried you out of your home. The dog whined, and you wished you’d at least been a good enough dog owner to name her. Hopefully someone would find her soon. Maybe she would go to an owner less shitty than you. Your eyes drifted closed, the cold sensation of the ocean washing over the edges of your consciousness.

“Я врятую тебе. Я обіцяю,” the man said.

You smiled, knowing that was likely yet another feverish delusion. Cheek pressed to the hard body armor he wore, you let oblivion drag you into its watery depths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Принаймні я помру від рук прекрасної людини - At least I will die by the hands of a beautiful person  
> Принаймні зробити це швидко - At least do it fast  
> Я врятую тебе. Я обіцяю - I will save you. I promise.
> 
> whew lads, i love me some body horror!! tbh i've wanted to do a story with an invading Elder Thing in a protag's body for a while. after i read the nightwing storyline with the judge i just had to put some spooky shit in the waters of bludhaven. also, dick is such a good and soft person that i just... felt the urge to throw some horror shit at him lol. 
> 
> dick is actually my favorite batboy, believe it or not. even if i do throw monsters at him and have a less soft story for him. 
> 
> if you've read this far, thank you!! comments and kudos are appreciated. it's been years since i've taken any russian and i'm not super comfortable with ukranian, so i'm relying on an online translator. if it's funky, please let me know!


	2. Flood Then Fade Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _the only way around, is to go into it straight  
>  feeling with your senses  
> let it flood then fade away_

The embrace of the water was gentle, loving. It cradled you in your unconsciousness, carried you through the tide of your mind. A shadow emerged from the depths, twisting and terrible. Yet you did not panic. There was a strange familiarity to it. You felt no fear as cold, scaled hands reached out to cup your face. When you turned your dreaming eyes towards the shadow, you saw only the blurred outlines of a monstrous silhouette and glowing green eyes. Teeth flashed in the dark, curling into a feral attempt at a smile. Still, it was comforting. The monstrous thing drew you closer, a cold embrace that was so similar to the sea of your consciousness. It sank into you, scales merging with your skin. Surrendering to the feeling, you embraced it back and let it sink fully into yourself. A cold, vast void opened in your chest, an ancient thing that echoed your own slow heartbeat.

 _We are glad to have found you._ A hissing voice, soft and melodic, echoed in the watery depths. It was so familiar to the voice you had heard in your head before. _Child of an old country, heart pumping the blood of the wronged. You long for justice, for vengeance. We tasted your righteous blood and came to you. Let us help you._

 _Who are you?_ You asked. _Why me? Why all of this?_

 _We are ancient, a remnant of the old world. We have long lived in the cursed waters of this city, dragged from our homeland._ The voice gained a hard edge, words sharp. _We have watched our waters polluted with the bodies of the damned. We would have this stopped. We would have you be our host._

 _I don’t understand,_ you said.

 _It will take time. We are still dormant within you. You must take the time to adjust to our presence._ Something cold caressed you, loving and gentle. _When you are ready, we will guide you, дочка. Trust in your instincts. The black bird will be our protector._

The touch slid from you, the presence inside of you shrinking. The waters dragged you deeper and you reached for the presence again, rooting into yourself to try to drag it back up.

 _Wait!_ You cried, desperate. _Please, come back, I have so many questions! You can’t just—_

_\---_

You tasted saltwater when you woke. Turning your head, you spat and coughed, the fluid leaking from your mouth and your throat. You continued to cough as you sat up, head pounding. The room you laid in was not one that you recognized. The bed was small and uncomfortable, the mattress thin and lumpy and the blankets covering you thin. It was too dark to see properly and you rubbed at your eyes, groaning. The dream was already fading from your mind, the ghostly feeling of the water disappearing. Wiping at your mouth with the back of your hand, you pushed yourself upright. The last thing you could remember was the masked man carrying you from your home and a whispered promise that remained just out of reach.

“You’re up.”

As if called by your recollection, the masked man appeared from the shadows. The room was much larger than you had first judged, likely more of a cavern. Your eyes were still trying to adjust to the darkness, worsening your throbbing headache.

“Where am I?” you asked.

“One of my safehouses,” the man said. He knelt in front of you, ignoring the puddle of saltwater spit up next to him. “You’ve been out for a while.”

Narrowing your eyes, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed. You braced your hands on the side of the bed and leaned closer to him.

“Who are you?” you demanded.

“I told you earlier, I’m Nightwing,” he said, mouth twisting up in a grim smile. “I moved here recently.”

“Oh god,” you groaned, “you’re one of those vigilantes, aren’t you?”

“Not a fan, I take it.” He laughed, unbothered by your disgusted tone.

“That is one way of putting it,” you said.

One of the things you and your hardened editor-in-chief had in common was your disgust for the vigilantes coming out of the woodwork. They had a penchant for inserting themselves into your stories and complicating them unnecessarily. A once straight-forward story on a trafficking ring would turn into a convoluted tale of petty little squabbles that cost innocent lives. Too many times you had chased leads only to reach a dead end because of some stupid vigilante sticking their noses into business that wasn’t their own.

“So,” you continued, “which city did you come crawling from?”

The vigilante arched an eyebrow.

“Who says I’m not from Blüdhaven?” he asked.

“None of your ilk are,” you snapped. “No one from this city is stupid enough to waltz around in a jumpsuit pretending to be a superhero. The only thing that gets you is killed.”

“Bold words coming from another outsider.” A smug little smile graced his lips, making you scowl.

“Let me guess,” you said drily. “The accent gave me away.”

“That,” he said, “and the sleep talk being in Ukrainian.”

A hot embarrassed flush rose to your skin. How much had he listened to? How long had you been in this hideout of his? You leaned closer to him, tilting your head as you did so. _There was something familiar about him._

“Would you care to explain why you have kidnapped me, vigilante?” you asked. “You claim not to work for my brother but have yet to prove it.”

Tilting his head in the same fashion you were, he leaned in as well. Your faces were a breath apart, the opaque white glass over his eyes reflecting your own back at you. A little thrill went up your spine at the proximity. You chose to ignore it, narrowing your eyes further.

“I’ve been working the smuggling by the Ukrainians down at the docks, too,” he said. “Saw you yelling at Anatoli Orlov and watched him shoot you. I thought you were dead. Care to explain how you’re still here?”

“I owe you no explanations,” you growled. “I am not the one who broke into your home.”

The vigilante sighed, leaning back on his heels again. With a safe distance between the two of you again, the tension in your body melted away. He rubbed at his jaw, dark stubble already darkening the skin there.

“Fair enough.” He shook his head, thick black hair falling in his face. “Although an explanation for that and your sickness would be appreciated at some point. I’m from Gotham originally. I came here hoping to help. We had a Ukrainian mob group back in Gotham and I’d originally thought the Ukrainians here were a branch.”

“The Whisper Gang are a foolish group of childish men playing at being the Malina,” you spat. “The mob here is an extension of the Malina. The Odesa Mafia, you may know them as.”

“Right,” he said, squinting at the anger in your voice. “I tracked the sale of an assault rifle used in a mass shooting in a community center to Anatoli and had set up surveillance.”

Anatoli. Your brother, your blood. Rotten to the core, upholding no code but that of a thief. Your fingers curled in the blankets, rage hot in your chest. _Vengeance. Blood in the water._ A melodic hiss echoed in your head, stoking the flames of your fury. A decade had passed and the wound of his leaving was still open and bleeding and raw. His attempted killing was only salt rubbed in it.

“I came to this city to expose the evils lurking just under its surface,” you said. “I have uncovered criminal networks and crooked city officials. I have exposed corrupted cops. In a few short years I have proven my place here in this city. But this is a story much bigger than me. I can report it, but it will only cut off one head of many. This is a group who lurked in the shadows of the streets in my old home. I know them far better than you ever will. So tell me, what were you hoping to do, vigilante?”

The man fell quiet, watching you. You wondered if he could see the old scars deep in your heart, the ways in which the Malina had torn your family apart. Most likely, though, he was blind to it. Like all of them were, so set on their righteous path they did not think of those who had suffered the most at the hands of their chosen enemies.

“I read some of your stories,” he said. “When I first came here, to this city. You’ve done good work. I like to think that I’m good at what I do. Back in Gotham, I was one of the best. But here, I’m blind in the dark. I didn’t know that you were tracking the Ukrainians. But now that I know you are, I want you to help me so that I can help you.”

That had you bristling, offended. Who the hell was this man to waltz in and claim he could so easily help you? You needed no help in the shadows, no fool dressed in a leotard stumbling around and mucking things up. A feral anger rose in you, cold and creeping. You bared your teeth in a snarl, fingers twisting further into the blankets.

“Fuck you,” you snarled. “You break into my home, you take me from my bed, and now you claim that you can help me? I have never needed the help of a fool in a costume before, vigilante.”

“Whoa.” He held his hands up, surprised at the venom in your tone. “I didn’t mean to offend, I promise. You’re good at your job. More than anything, I’m just asking for your help. You know this group better than I ever could.”

But there was the issue of Tiger Shark. You did not know the man, not really. You had heard of him, of course, but had thought he kept to Gotham in his activity. If he was working with the Malina, that was a huge problem. An unknown variable was never a good thing. Not when it came to a group of hardened professional criminals. But you were not about to clue him into that, not yet. If he did not know of Tiger Shark’s involvement, that information gave you leverage. And, if you were honest, you were out of your depth. The attempted murder and your sickness were proof of that.

“What can you offer me in exchange?” you asked. “I don’t offer services for free.”

You watched his demeanor change from defeated to excited. His movements were incredibly expressive, body language louder than his words likely ever could be. Straightening, he stood up and paced back and forth in front of you.

“I can protect you,” he said. “Once the Ukrainians know you survived, they’ll no doubt order another hit. I can keep an eye on you, make sure no one hurts you.”

“I have a story that will be printed about the situation soon,” you said. “Whatever target I had on my back, it will grow tenfold once that is published. Besides, I have received threats before. I have survived so far.”

“I doubt you’ve been targeted by a group this large before, though.” He stopped in front of you, hands on his hips. “I know you’re skeptical. But trust me when I say I can keep you safe. I’ve gone up against much tougher guys before.”

“Right.” You were doomed. “I will remember that when they blow your brains out.”

“Love the positivity,” he sighed. “Look, there’s clearly also something going on with you. You’re sick but when I ran an analysis, I couldn’t get a hit on any concrete reason.”

Great, he had swabbed your mouth or taken blood from you while you were unconscious too. If he was trying to sell you on the agreement, he was certainly going about it the wrong way. You reached up, fingers brushing over the scar on your throat. Whatever was happening to you was certainly outside of the usual scientific realm.

“What are you trying to get at, vigilante?” you drawled.

“I have some connections who are typically pretty good at finding out the cause of weird stuff like whatever you’ve come down with,” he said. “You work with me, gather information for me and share what you have so far, and I’ll keep you safe and get you in touch with someone who can help you.”

Your knee-jerk reaction was to tell him to go fuck himself. You hated vigilantes, their little codes that got people hurt and killed. Why the hell would you help one? But you had to admit that his offer was a good one. You couldn’t really trust that he would follow through. But you were looking at a huge potential threat from the Ukrainians and you were getting sicker by the hour. The vigilante had you cornered. If you turned him down, he could keep operating as normal. But you? You would be left afloat in a dangerous sea with no boat and no safety net. Law had told you to stay safe. Maybe this was your chance to follow through.

“Fine.” You couldn’t look at him. You already hated that you were agreeing to the deal. “I need to go feed my dog. Let me go back to my house, gather my notes. Then you can have whatever you want.”

“I can do that.” He nodded, watching as you pushed yourself to your feet. “Let me help you out. Once you’re at your house, I’ll leave you be for a while.”

Although you were hesitant to spend more time with him than was absolutely necessary, you nodded in agreement. You had no idea where you currently were, so how would you have been able to get home without him? It was a clever maneuver to force more dependency on you. Unsteady on your feet, you braced yourself against a wall as he retrieved a long, hooded coat, effectively covering his costume and casting shadows over the masked part of his face. You stiffened for a moment, a visceral reaction to his changed appearance. But you forced yourself to shrug it off. He handed you a hooded jacket as well, which you grudgingly put on, hood a welcome barrier between you and this stranger.

Wordlessly, he led you out of the building. Hanging back just a couple of steps, you made a quick mental note of the building. Seemingly abandoned, previously a gym judging from the large empty space and the mirrors. That, or a dance or fitness studio. When you made it outside, you noted the address and the lack of active businesses in the immediate area. A light rain fell, chill in the air making you shiver and pull the jacket tighter around yourself. No one that you passed seemed to notice either of you. Still staying just behind him, you studied the way the vigilante moved. He walked with a certain grace, light on his feet but subtle enough that he wouldn’t draw too much attention to himself.

Tired and sick and distracted by trying to dissect the way he moved, you paid no attention to the route from his little hideout to your home. Before you knew it, he had stopped in front of the house and you nearly ran right into his back. Clearing your throat and trying to gather some semblance of composure, you took a small step back away from him.

“So,” you said.

“So,” he said, pulling his hood back enough for you to see his smirk. “I’ll leave you to it and give you some time to get a little more rest.”

Frowning at him, you took off the coat he had loaned you, ignoring the unpleasant cold rain that immediately soaked into your hair and clothes. You shoved it into his chest before he could argue in any fashion.

“You’ll get your information. I’ll have it compiled for you.” You dug your keys out of your pocket, taking a step backwards towards the door. “Try not to get shot on your way back.”

“Aw, you do care,” he simpered, laughing when that drew a hot, embarrassed flush to your cheeks.

Turning your back to him, you stomped up to the door, hip checking it more viciously than usual and letting it slam behind you. You hoped that he’d stuck around long enough to hear it. The puppy bounded up to you, all fluffy brown fur and big innocent eyes. You glared at her, trying to put at least a little malice in it.

“Little traitor,” you muttered. “I thought Shepherd mixes were supposed to be good guard dogs.”

The dog just let out a pleased little yip and padded after you as you made your way into the kitchen. If she picked up on your faux hostility, she showed no sign of it. Still grumbling to yourself, you measured out kibble into her bowl and topped off her water before heading to the fridge. The hunger had gotten worse. It felt like it was eating a hole through your abdomen, chewing away at your insides in search of some relief. Pressing a hand over your stomach, you opened the fridge and stared inside, hoping for food to catch your eye. Almost immediately, a package of raw chicken caught your eye. The hunger intensified, some feral part of you taking over. Almost on autopilot, you ripped open the package and tore into a raw chicken breast. The meat felt cold and slimy in your mouth as you devoured it, the logical part of your mind reeling at your sudden primitive hunger. You ate the whole thing raw, going for a second before you could stop yourself. But as you made it halfway through the second, you noticed something.

The hunger was fading. Even as you consumed raw poultry that would surely make you sick or give you parasites, the sick feeling in your gut was beginning to disappear. Once you had finished the second piece, you paused long enough to stare down at your hands. Sticky, raw fluids from the meat stained them, a few errant pieces stuck to your palms and under your fingernails. You wanted to feel sick. You wanted to vomit. Instead, something inside of you seemed to stretch in contentment, brushing against the confines of your skin. The dizziness began to abate. The nausea disappeared. You weren’t full, but you felt sated. Shaking yourself out of your quiet horror, you put the chicken back in the fridge (you could deal with the smell of an opened package later) and sat down on the floor, back against the kitchen counter.

After finishing up her meal, the dog trotted up to you and curled up in your lap, seemingly oblivious to your inner turmoil. The clock on the oven said it was just past midnight. You pressed your sticky hands over the slowly fading fever in your cheeks, trying to make sense of every strange thing that had happened to you in the past 24 hours. Your brother had shot you after you plead frantically for him to just come back with you. You had somehow come back from the shooting alive and with odd scars to show for it. You had experienced hallucinations, strange dreams, nausea, and sickness. And now, to top it all off, you had to put up with a fucking vigilante.

“Fuck.” You let your head fall back against the wooden cabinet doors, eyes closed. The dog merely wagged her tail. “I should have stayed in Odesa.”

You sat there for a moment, letting yourself wallow in an uncharacteristic bit of self-pity. After the day you’d had, you thought you deserved it. And if the vigilante showed up early, fuck him. You could take your time gathering files for him. The dog fell asleep, her head cushioned on your knee. For that one moment you allowed yourself to wish for one short moment of normalcy.

_Koshka…_

And just like that, the moment was shattered. The same melodic voice echoed in your head. The one from the dreams, from the mirror. You kept your eyes closed, fingers tightening by your sides.

 _Koshka._ The voice said again. _We would have words with you. You have fed us, sated our great hunger. Let us speak to you._

You sighed. Maybe you were just going crazy. If that was the case, you hoped that the raw chicken would at least kill you quickly and (mostly) painlessly. But until then, you figured you could indulge the voice in your head.

 _Okay._ You thought back to them, already regretting it. _Let’s talk._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> дочка - daughter
> 
> kinda went back and forth on whether or not to put the whole "eating raw meat" thing as a chapter warning, but i figure it's pretty tame compared to some of the other stuff i have planned for this fic. i know not much happened this chapter, but i needed a little bit of exposition, and to have reader/Koshka set up her deal with dick. also, i really wanted to try out a "reluctant enemies who kinda put up with each other to friends to lovers" thing with this fic, so forgive reader/Koshka's rudeness to dick for a bit lol. i promise it will be rewarded with some protective!dick goodness. 
> 
> if you've read this far, thank you!! comments and kudos are always appreciated.


	3. Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _i'm bigger than my body  
>  i'm colder than this home  
> i'm meaner than my demons  
> i'm bigger than these bones_

Sitting cross-legged on the sofa, eyes closed, you took a deep breath and tried to convince yourself that the situation wasn’t deeply weird. The dog had curled up next to you, head resting on your thigh and tail wagging. She had sniffed at your hands for what felt like a solid minute after you’d washed them, whining when she realized you hadn’t left any chicken juice for her. You gave her a small scratch behind the ears before you took another deep breath and reached out for the presence.

_Ugh_ , you said. _Let’s get this over with, please._

_This strikes you as very strange to be speaking with us,_ the voice responded in that sing-song voice.

_Yeah, well, I don’t exactly have experience talking to voices in my head._ You sighed, rubbing at your eyes. _How do I know that I’m not just going insane and you’re a figment of my imagination?_

_Your hunger is not the same as ours._ Amusement tinged each word. _You were also dying when we found you. I do not believe it is common for humans to simply have such grievous wounds heal in a matter of seconds._

_Are you always going to be this bitchy?_ You made sure to put every ounce of your annoyance in those words. _But fine. You’re not just a crazy voice in my head. What the hell are you?_

A moment of contemplative silence. You didn’t know how you could tell that the voice was thinking. You simply did, as keenly and intuitively as you would have known your own thoughts. It freaked you out. The voice spoke before you could panic more.

_We have been called many things, but we have never had a name in the human sense. We simply are. We have been, and we will be._ There was another small pause and you felt a cold tendril brush against a back corner of your mind. You flinched. _I believe your people once had legends about us. We came here from your homeland, carried by the tides of change._

_Wow._ You would have rolled your eyes if they weren’t closed. _Not sure you could have made that sound more cliché._

_You will show us respect._ There was an edge to the voice this time, one that had you shivering. _We are older than you could fathom. We saved your life. And we have a purpose for you._

_Yeah, so you said before._ You shook your head. _I don’t know how I can help you. I’m not, like, an environmental expert or anything. I can’t just clean up the harbor. I’m a journalist, not a scientist._

_As you are now, it is true that there is little you can do for us._ A small caress against the core of your being, cold and wet and tender. _But you are changing. It is a part of becoming one with us. Soon, we will be able to give you what you need to help us._

_Whoa._ Your eyes snapped open, but you could still feel the presence there, wrapped sinuously around your mind. _What the hell do you mean I’m changing?_

_We mean that you are becoming us._ The voice let out something that was almost a laugh, melodic and soft. _You are becoming more, мала. That is our gift. We will change you so that you can have your revenge and we can make the waters ours once more._

A sick feeling twisted in your guts. What the hell was going to happen to you? What did it mean you were changing? Was that why you ate all that raw meat, why you had puked up all that gunk? Was that why you still felt so unsettled? As you pondered this, you felt that stretching under your skin again, cold tendrils pushing to grow further. You wrapped your arms around yourself, shuddering. Maybe you would have been better off dead. What exactly were you going to become? Could you keep living the way you were, once the change was done? Or would you have to adapt, find a home in the cold, dark water?

Shaking your head again, you refused to let your thoughts go further down that road. You could deal with that later. You had more immediate concerns, like the story Law had likely sent you edits on. And, of course, the fucking vigilante. You cursed under your breath as you reached for your phone on the coffee table. It was already almost noon. How long had you spent talking to the thing in your head? How long had you spent passed out in the vigilante’s hideout? Still cursing, you pushed yourself off the couch and retrieved your laptop. The presence in your head remained silent as you typed in your password and navigated to your email. It sat quiet and heavy, cold and present in your mind. A silent witness to your life, observing and calculating. You knew instinctively that you couldn’t shove it away.

Whatever had invaded your body in the water was there to stay.

You fought back another shiver as you pulled up the email from your editor. He’d sent it hours ago, and you knew he was likely pissed that it had taken you this long to even read it. Like everything he sent, you knew he would get a read receipt for it. The message was short and simple, much to your surprise.

_Koshka,_

_Your story is with the copy editors. Should be out in the Sunday edition. Be ready to write a follow up when you get back Monday morning._

Leaning back, you stared at the email in shock. In the years you’d worked at the paper, not once had Law sent anything straight to copy. There was always some small thing he didn’t like, some tweaks he demanded to be made before he even thought about getting it sent to print. You pinched yourself to make sure you weren’t still dreaming. Out of everything that had happened to you in the past few days, this was the most unbelievable thing. You had been delirious. How had you managed to churn out your best story to date?

The puppy trotted up to you, sitting down in front of you with her tail wagging. You stared back at her, hands still resting on the keyboard.

“I’m not going insane, am I, girl?”

The dog just barked in response.

“Yeah.” You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “That’s what I thought.”

With that particular worry taken care of, you had nothing else to use as an excuse to keep from pulling files for the vigilante. Closing your laptop, you stood and groaned as you felt you joints stiffen and then pop. You flexed your fingers to loosen the joints before shuffling down the hall to the little room you’d turned into a makeshift office. Boxes upon boxes were stacked on the floor and on top of short bookshelves, overflowing with documents and pictures and statements. Two file boxes were full of audio tapes, another box packed with security and CCTV footage. With a heavy sigh, you began to pull out relevant information, carefully leaving behind small pieces that you wanted to keep for yourself. You doubted that you would ever trust the vigilante enough to share everything you knew with him, and knowledge that he might need was a powerful weapon to keep in your arsenal. You focused on sorting and filing away, hiding things you wanted you keep to yourself and tuning out everything else around you.

When a hand rested on your shoulder, you could not stop the scream that left your throat. A file of surveillance photos from Gotham went flying as you spun around, eyes wide and hands curling into fists. Nightwing caught the punch you threw, letting out a soft grunt. Your knuckles and wrist stung at the impact, your breath catching in your throat.

“Fuck!” you said, slapping his hand away and pressing your own over your racing heart. “Are you allergic to announcing yourself?”

“I called out for you several times,” he said, lips turning down into a worried frown that only stoked your irritation. “You must have been super focused if you didn’t hear me. The dog even barked.”

Turning your glare to your puppy (who had the audacity to simply wag her tail), you closed your eyes and took a deep breath in an attempt to calm yourself. You were still on edge, the foreign thing in you moving restlessly as you counted backwards from ten before speaking.

“Whatever,” you eventually grumbled. Waving to a box you had put together for him, you took a step back to put more distance between the two of you. “Here’s what you requested. Relevant information on the Malina’s activities here and in Gotham. Some documents are still in Ukranian, but you should be able to figure those out yourself.”

Despite the venom in your tone, the hard angle of your shoulders and the tight cross of your arms over your chest, Nightwing only smiled. _Fuck, he had dimples._ Shaking yourself to rip your attention away from his (insanely attractive even with a mask) face, you nodded down at the box once more.

“Don’t look so happy,” you snapped before he could say anything. “This is just the basics. Gang structure, basic rundown of possible operations. Anything else you want, you have to get yourself. This is my work, and I’m not just handing it out to any idiot in tights.”

“I understand, but I still appreciate it,” he said. Crouching down, he rifled through the file folders and lifted out a USB you had thrown at the bottom of the box. “This is a good starting point. And I didn’t come here empty handed, either.”

You watched warily as he stood back up, slipping the USB into one of his gauntlets and pulling out a business card from another hidden pocket. He held it out, giving it a slight wave when you didn’t immediately take it.

“It’s just a business card, I swear,” he said. After a pause, you stepped closer and took it, looking it over. “This guy and I have worked together in the past. He’s a bit of an asshole but he knows a lot about occult stuff. When people need to know about something weird, he’s usually the first person to get a call.”

“John Constantine,” you read, eyes narrowed. The name seemed vaguely familiar, but you couldn’t place the exact reason why. Perhaps you had seen some crazy classified ad for psychic services rendered or some other bullshit. “Am I supposed to believe that this man can cure whatever is happening to me?”

“I don’t know about cure,” he admitted. “But at the very least he should be able to figure out what is happening to you. Maybe he can cure it, or maybe he can just give you a talisman or something to keep it at bay.” Nightwing shrugged before picking up the box. “Just give him a call. Tell him I sent you and he owes me. If this helps, just consider it the first of many payments for your services. You’re a good journalist, Koshka. I’d like to help you out, and I think you could help me out too.”

You didn’t respond to that. Instead, you stared down at the business card in your hand, frowning as the vigilante left your house. The dog sat at your feet, staring up at you in anticipation. The whole situation seemed to be spinning rapidly out of control. Dying would have been simpler. Irritation growing, you pulled out your phone and called the number on the card.

\---

Within thirty seconds of meeting John Constantine, you had decided you hated him. He’d arrived to the agreed upon meeting place over half an hour late looking clearly hungover and smelling like he hadn’t showered in days. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, you knew, and he’d said multiple times over the phone that you were lucky he was meeting you only two days after you called. The only reason he had even agreed to the whole thing was because the favor he owed to the vigilante was, apparently, massive beyond reason. You frowned as he threw himself in the chair across from you, lit cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.

“You can’t smoke in here,” you said.

“Fuck off,” he replied.

Several reporters glanced at you, frowning when they saw the man sitting across from you. You had thought the lobby of the Blüdhaven Chronicle would be a neutral space, one where neither of you held any real power and your conversation could blend into the background. Clearly, you had been wrong. Constantine was loud, lower-class British accent thick and voice raspy in a distinctively unpleasant way. He’d sounded rude over the phone, but you hadn’t been prepared for this level of disrespect. You closed your eyes and took a steadying breath.

When you saw Nightwing again, you were going to break his nose for making you put up with this asshole.

“Okay,” you said, jaw clenched. “Let me try that again. Please put out your cigarette. Or I might put it out for you.”

Constantine arched one thick eyebrow, throwing an arm over the back of his chair. He looked you over (you suppressed a disgusted shudder) before finally shrugging and putting the cigarette out under the heel of his scuffed loafers. It was, you tried to reason through your growing anger, better than nothing.

“Thank you.” The words came out sharp and bitter. You folded your hands on the table in front of you. “Let’s get this over with so we don’t have to put up with one another for much longer. The vigilante said that you might be able to figure out what’s happening to me.”

“The vigilante sent you to the right place,” Constantine said. He made a vague motion with one hand, dark eyes catching yours. “But you seriously played down the situation on the phone, girl.”

You bristled at his tone, nails digging into your palms. They’d grown sharper somehow, drawing blood as the thing inside you stirred with your growing rage. “Please just get to the point,” you hissed through clenched teeth. You’d done well to keep the hunger sated the past couple of days, the voice in your head silent and unobtrusive.

“The point,” he said, unbothered, “is that you made this all sound like a simple case of possession on the phone. Coming back from the dead, weird voices in your head.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Standard stuff. But you’re far from standard. I could feel that thing in you from a mile away.”

Your blood ran cold.

“What does that mean?” you asked, voice quiet.

“What I mean is I don’t even need to cast any kind of spell to know that you’ve got something ancient in you,” Constantine explained. “There are different levels of possession. Most are pretty standard, a little evil spirit attached to a person. Simple enough to get rid of. Some are a bit more tricky, maybe because there’s a high-level demon latched on to the person or there was a pact made that no one else can interfere with. But there are some rare ones where something very, very old merges with a person. I can’t tell you exactly what is inside of you without some very flashy magic you likely don’t want me to perform in front of all your co-workers. But what I can tell you is that it’s powerful enough to trigger the attention of any magically inclined person in a mile radius. Every person has an aura, and yours is not what it should be.”

“Oh,” you whispered.

_Oh._

“Now if you really want me to break down this whole thing, I can. But it’ll take time and quite frankly the favor Nightwing owes me is not going to cover the cost of it all.” Constantine leaned forward, face suddenly grave. “I’m going to be honest with you. Even if I poured every ounce of magic in me into every spell I know, there’s no way to reverse what’s happening to you. You’ve already changed too much and trying to separate whatever has attached itself to you would probably kill you. My best advice would be to speak to it. Find out what it wants and see if you can work out some kind of deal with it. If you piss it off, it’s likely to kill you. Or just take you over completely.”

How were you supposed to respond to that? Static filled your head, words failing you as you gaped at the man in front of you. Something ancient was in you, something that could kill you, and you were just supposed to talk to it? Sure, you’d talked to it before. But that had been before. Now? Everything was suddenly different. Before, you could have easily written off everything as you simply going insane, maybe some kind of weird meta gene activating. But deep down, you knew that Constantine spoke the truth.

Something ancient had taken root in you and there was no getting it out.

_Why do you fear us?_

The voice echoed in your head, finally speaking up once more. A shiver went down your spine and you tried to hide your reaction. But it spoke again, cold tendrils sinking into the core of your being, permeating your thoughts.

_Would you be rid of us? After we chose you, after we became a part of you? We have healed you, child. You would be so ungrateful as to try to rid yourself of us?_

“No,” you whimpered. You hadn’t meant to say it out loud. Slapping hand over your mouth, you ripped your gaze from Constantine’s.

_This man will not tell you about the evil he has done. He has a snake’s tongue and a black heart. He does not understand us. He does not know what we want for you. Would you trust this wicked sorcerer over us? Would you like to know about the things he has done? We will show you._

The world melted around you, shadows twisting and dripping to cover reality and transport you to a nightmare. Sulfur overwhelmed your senses, heat flickering over your skin from low burning fires. Blood pooled at your feet, the body of a young girl staring up at you with dead eyes. Her face was frozen in a mask of terror, the state of her body churning your stomach. You tried to look away, but found that your gaze was locked. One nightmare bled into another, chalk outlines on dark floorboards and a twisting demon snarling in your face. One after another you saw bodies and horrors and the shadows Constantine had drawn into his life. Just as soon as you had experienced the visions you were back in reality, bile rising in your throat and tears welling in your eyes.

_We cannot let you be another casualty for this man’s unending quest for more power._ The voice was tender, phantom limbs cradling you as you shivered in your chair. Time stood still, a sob trapped in your throat as the thing inside of you awakened. _Trust us._

“Does the Nightwing know about the things you’ve done?” Your voice was not quite your own as the being controlled it, speaking through you. The lilt of your accent was just slightly off, an alien imitation of it. “Or have you hidden them from him, as well?”

“Ah.” Constantine smiled, bitter and dark. He leaned back in his chair again, reaching into the pocket of his trench coat for his pack of cigarettes. “I wondered when you’d show yourself. Awfully quiet for such a powerful being, aren’t you?”

“You forced our hand,” it said. “We could not sit back and let you poison this mind with your lies.”

“But you let the girl call me anyways.” He shrugged, snapping his fingers. You watched with a start as a flame flickered to life at his fingertips just long enough to light a cigarette. “Surely you have a reason for that.”

“We were curious about you, John Constantine. The Hellblazer. You have doomed many innocent souls.” You wanted to scream but found yourself powerless in your own body. “We would ask you to keep your distance from us. We care about this vessel. If necessary, we will take steps to protect ourselves.”

“You got a name?” he asked, unphased by the threat.

“We have no need for one,” it answered. “But we were once part of many. Carried to these shores on a storm, clinging to a boat for refuge. We were once called _rusalka._ Now, we simply are.”

“Well, that’s quite an interesting turn, isn’t it?” Constantine’s grin turned vicious. “A vicious old water spirit inhabiting the body of a Ukrainian journalist. Wonder how that will turn out for you. The girl’s body is changing already, I suppose.”

“A necessary transformation.” You felt that same shudder, a stretching against your skin and bones. _Changing._ “We will take steps as needed.”

“Well, when you find yourselves living out of a bathtub, just remember that Constantine at least came with an offer of help.” He stood, shoving his hands in the pockets of his coat. “Koshka, I imagine you’re still aware of all this, so I’ll give you a word of advice. If you’ve got any affairs, I suggest you wrap them up quick. All this? It’s going to end badly.”

Before you could blink, he was gone. The cold grip on your mind ebbed away and you stood, looking wildly around for the man. But John Constantine was gone.

Standing alone in the lobby, staring at the streaks of blood on your palms, you wondered if you could even call yourself human any longer.

\---

The sound of the newspaper hitting the desk echoed through the warehouse. The byline somehow managed to stand out even more than the headline.

“You said she was dead,” Dudley Soames said. The man looked furious, face flushed and sweat beading his forehead. “That doesn’t look dead to me.”

Anatoli Orlov stared down at the article. Although his face was not visible in the black and white photograph accompanying the article, he was no doubt the star of this front page news. Soames played the supporting role with the back of his head visible in one corner. It made no sense. He had seen his sister hit the water, seen the dark blossom of her blood rise to the surface.

“She should be dead,” Anatoli said. He gently closed his laptop, attention drawn away from the forged ledgers he’d been finishing. “I shot her. I saw her body hit the water.”

“Clearly you saw wrong.” Soames gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles white. “I don’t think I need to impress on you how important this deal with Tiger Shark is. If that journalist isn’t taken care of soon, we’re both fucked, Orlov.”

It would be his sister who fucked the whole thing over, Orlov thought. There had been a reason he’d left his family back in Odesa, killed his old self and built a new life. He hadn’t expected her to hunt him down like this. God, he’d never wanted to shoot down his own sister. But here she was, refusing to be put down and making his life harder.

“Consider it taken care of,” he said. “The journalist won’t be a problem for much longer. Just focus on your part of the deal. I’ll put this down quickly and quietly.”

“Make sure you do.” Soames shot one last glare at the Ukrainian before storming out, the silence afterwards deafening.

Taking a deep breath, Anatoli Orlov pulled out a burner phone and prepared himself to kill his sister all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi. wow. it's been a while, hasn't it? i apologize for the very long wait for this update. in the past few months i've gotten a job, quit, gotten a new job, tried to find a new therapist, looked for apartments, and had to take various pets to the vet. it's been a crazy time, and i just couldn't find the motivation to work on this.
> 
> but here it is! not the greatest chapter, i know. but i wanted to get some exposition out of the way before diving into the story proper. i know dick has been pretty absent, but i promise he'll be way more present in future chapters. very minimal editing done so that i could get this pushed out, so please let me know if you see anything.
> 
> thank you as always for your lovely comments! i'm hoping to buckle down and get the next chapter out very soon and i have a whole month off come december, so hopefully i can get this fic really going then.
> 
> see y'all in the next chapter!


	4. Getting Closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: mild violence, mention of past death
> 
> _paralyze, paralyze me_   
>  _i cannot, cannot do anything_   
>  _my darkness is sinking, sinking deeper_

You sat in Jonathan Law’s office on Monday evening, staring down at your article on his desk and clutching a mug of coffee. Since your meeting with Constantine that afternoon, you’d felt shaken and off balance. The words swam in your vision, foreign despite being your own work. Law finally came in, followed by a man you didn’t recognize.

“Thank you for staying late, Koshka,” your editor said, sitting down in his chair. The other man stood behind him, hands clasped behind his back. “I wanted to keep this quiet and after hours seemed the best time.”

Looking between the two men, you didn’t respond. You simply clutched the mug tighter and waited for Law to continue.

“As you can imagine, your story got quite a bit of attention when it was published yesterday.” Law paused, gaze darting to your white-knuckle grip before he went on. “Mostly good attention, but as I suspected we’ve received a few threats. More than one of them have been deemed credible and I made the call that you now have a bit of a security issue.”

“The Malina wants to kill me,” you said, eyes narrowed. “You can just say it.”

“We can’t confirm or deny exactly who might want you dead,” the other man spoke up. “But yes. There’s a very real fear that there’s going to be an attempt on your life.”

Shifting your gaze to him, you frowned. There was some part of you that knew you should recognize him, but you just couldn’t quite recall who he could be. He was a younger man, face creased and stern and shoulders the kind of broad and straight that you’d only ever seen in career cops. There was no visible badge, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t on the force.

“Koshka,” Law said, “I’d like you to meet Captain Gannon Malloy. He oversees the major crimes unit and several organized crime task forces.”

“Your editors and I have been in touch since the first threat was received shortly after publication,” Malloy said. He stepped forward, pale blue eyes cold and calculating. “The concern for your safety has been deemed serious enough for us to have a security detail for you.”

“What?” You scowled, shoulders tensing.

“Captain Malloy has assigned one of his officers to keep watch over you around the clock,” Law said. “At least until the people behind the threats can be identified and—”

“You’re giving me a babysitter.” To say you were annoyed would have been an understatement. “I’m used to receiving threats and I’m still here.” _Just barely. You were killed several nights ago._ “Honestly, I don’t need—”

“With all due respect,” Malloy interrupted, “you don’t understand the severity of some of these threats. For your own well-being we decided not to share them with you, but rest assured that these aren’t like the ones you’ve received before. You kicked quite the hornet’s nest with this article of yours.”

Before you could open your mouth to argue, Law caught your attention and gave you a small shake of the head. _Not the time._ Still simmering, you shut your mouth and slumped in your chair. You knew that messing with the operations of the malina was serious, of course, but you couldn’t see the point in a babysitter. You were capable of taking care of yourself. Hell, if you needed to move again, you would. But you knew when to pick a fight and when to let it go. Arguing with a police captain was, to be fair, a very stupid thing to do.

The door opened behind you and the Captain averted his cold gaze to whoever had just entered. The thing (no, the _rusalka_ ) inside of you stirred in response, setting you on edge. The new person stopped just behind your chair and you found your senses suddenly focused solely on them. You could smell their cologne, felt aware of their body heat just behind you. Slowly, you turned to look at the person behind you and froze.

“Detective Grayson,” Captain Malloy said. “Thank you for joining us. Your timing is good, as we just explained the detail to Ms. Koshka.”

Dick Grayson, your neighbor, stood just behind you. His gaze dropped to meet yours and he grinned at the look of shock on your face. Unlike his usual casual clothes you’d spotted him in, he now wore a smartly tailored suit, his dark hair swept back from his face and a badge clipped to his belt. How you’d never picked up on the fact that your neighbor was a cop was beyond you. But here he was, dimpled smile making your heart race.

 _Hungry,_ the rusalka purred in your head. It stretched, curled and coiled, a warm, pleasant aura radiating from it. Your cheeks flushed and you dropped your gaze to your mug. Flustered and embarrassed, you tried to dredge up your previous feelings of annoyance and anger but found only the warmth radiating from the rusalka.

“Koshka,” Law said, “this is Detective Richard Grayson. He’ll be your security detail.”

“I believe we’ve already met,” Dick said. He rested his hand on the back of your chair and you tried not to flinch. “But it’s nice to see you again, Ms. Koshka.”

“Detective Grayson volunteered for the detail,” Malloy explained. “It wasn’t a very popular job, so we were pleased to not have to resort to drawing lots. He will be with you everywhere you go until the threat is dealt with. We’ve worked up a schedule for him to pick you up and drop you off, and he will also be here in the office with you to sweep and ensure security.”

Immediately, you knew that this situation was not going to work out. You turned to Law, embarrassment forgotten.

“What am I supposed to do about my contacts? If some of them know I have a cop following me around, they’ll back out,” you said. “Not to mention the fact that I saw one of Blüdhaven’s finest working with not only the Malina but also one of Gotham’s resident crime lords. How do I know that this protection detail isn’t actually a death sentence?”

Malloy scowled, stepping forward. “We can’t verify that one of our own was actually there outside of a potential undercover job. And even if we do have a leak, we’re handling this with discretion. Grayson’s fellow officers only know that he’s keeping an eye on a threatened person of interest, nothing more.”

“With all due respect,” you snapped back, “that doesn’t guarantee a potential information leak, Captain. People have died because of leaks in your organization before, so—”

“I’ll be taking the necessary steps to make sure that doesn’t happen,” Grayson interrupted. Despite the growing angry tension in the room, he had kept up an easygoing smile. “I know that you have no reason to trust me, but I’m very good at my job. Nothing will happen to you under my watch.”

“Trust is earned, Detective Grayson,” you said through clenched teeth. “Keep me alive to the end of the week, and then maybe we’ll see if you’re as good as you claim.”

The smile on Grayson’s face wavered every so slightly, one dark eyebrow slowly arching. You let a small amount of satisfaction bleed into your frustration. The rusalka purred again and you forced your gaze back down to your mug. Small, petty satisfaction.

 _You are supposed to be above this,_ the rusalka whispered, _and yet. What a strange thing you are._

 _Shut up,_ you hissed back.

 _The man is here to protect you yet you take little petty vengeance against him,_ the whispers continued. _Is it not best to be kinder to this man?_

You did not respond to the last question. It was, obviously, sensible. But at that moment, you were not feeling particularly sensible. You’d always felt the need to be difficult. This was no different.

“Regardless,” Law said, levelling a glare at you that made you sink in your seat, “this arrangement is not up for debate. Koshka, you will cooperate with Detective Grayson and his superiors while you are under their care. Captain Malloy will keep in touch with me about the situation while looking into the threats. Once this is under control, everything can go back to normal.”

You bristled at his tone, feeling like a scolded child. But you bit your tongue and remained silent. After a long pause, Grayson set a hand on your shoulder. You took a deep breath and reigned in your temper. One more flare up and you would be looking at discipline from your boss and, potentially, the cops. Ego smarting, you shrugged his hand off and stood, setting your mug down with more force than necessary on Law’s desk. None of the men flinched at the sound. Instead, Grayson put a hand on your back and led you to the door.

“Have a good night, Koshka,” Law said as you walked out. “And try not to bust the detective’s balls too much.”

The door clicked shut behind you and you immediately turned around, slapping Grayson’s hand away from you. The detective blinked, shocked at the sudden surge in hostility. You stepped closer to him, jabbing a finger into his chest and keeping your voice low.

“Let me make something very clear to you right now, Grayson,” you hissed. “I will play along with this, but only to the extent that I won’t get fired once this whole thing blows over. If I have to meet with one of my contacts, you will not follow. I’m not going to risk their safety or the safety of my stories because a group of men have decided I can’t take care of myself. You can drive me to and from work and follow me around like a good little watch dog. But do not ever try to order me around.”

Grayson blinked once, twice. Then he let out a low, rumbling chuckle and reached up, fingers wrapping gently around your wrist. His grip was loose and unthreatening, hand warm and skin calloused. For a brief moment, your breath caught in your throat as he dipped his head to look you in the eye.

“I never had any intention of trying to order you around, Ms. Koshka,” he said, voice low. “Only a fool would look at you and think that trying to put a leash on you would keep you safe. We’ll have to talk a bit more about security if I do have to leave your side to meet one of your contacts, but rest assured that I aim to make this situation as painless as possible for the both of us.”

“Oh.” There was no stopping the rush of heat to your face, embarrassment immediately following. You were _not_ going to be that type of woman. Collecting yourself, you tugged your wrist from his grip and took a step back. “Well, I suppose I appreciate that, Detective.”

“Please.” He smiled and you shivered as the rusalka purred once more. _Fucking dimples._ “Call me Dick. Now, let’s get you home.”

\---

“The payment’s gone through.”

“Good.” Anatoli Orlov stared out at the docks from his desk, phone pressed to his ear. “What’s the timetable for this?”

“Next 24 hours. We’re still making arrangements for a clean-up crew.”

“Fast track it. If you need more money, that can be handled. This needs to be taken care of as soon as possible.”

“Don’t worry about it, Orlov. You can trust Blockbuster to get rid of the… problem.”

\---

At 5 am the next morning, you were already wondering if perhaps being killed by the Malina would be better for you in the end. Dick Grayson had woken you up shortly after 4 am to go through his “morning briefing” with you. You’d fallen asleep twice before he gave up and gave you the short version: arrive at the office building before opening, sweep for threats, go about business until lunch (at which point he would order something for you), finish up your work, leave by 6 pm, evening debrief. Then rinse and repeat until you were either killed or the threat was contained.

“I need more coffee,” you grumbled. “Is there more coffee in this little schedule of yours?”

“Yes,” he laughed. You hated that he looked just as perfect as he had the night before. Did the man even need sleep to function? Meanwhile, you were certain that you barely even looked human. “There’s time for more coffee in the schedule.”

 _Hungry,_ the rusalka growled in your head. You flinched and played it off with a yawn, grimacing as your stomach churned. _W_ e _hunger. You must feed us, дочка._

 _Not right now,_ you thought back, pushing desperation into the words. _It’s not my fault that regular food won’t work. Once we get home, we can—_

**_HUNGRY. FEED US._ **

Physical pain lanced through your temples, the rusalka latching cold claws into your mind. You pressed your hands to your head, biting back a pained moan.

“Are you okay?” Grayson asked.

“Fine,” you ground out. “Just a stress headache.”

The rusalka growled, but you refused to give in. The encounter with Constantine had haunted you. If you were going to change, you wanted to do it in your own terms. With a detective sitting right in front of you and watching your every move until you got home, you couldn’t just rip into a package of raw meat whenever you wanted. Questions would be raised and you simply didn’t have the energy to answer them.

Grayson allowed you one more mug of coffee before ushering you out of the house. You got into his car with no resistance, slumping in the passenger seat and pressing your forehead to the cool glass of the window. Another cold, gray day to match your mood passed by outside. Just as you were letting your eyes drift shut in an attempt to get a short nap in, Grayson cleared his throat next to you.

“So,” he said. “I read your file last night.”

“Oh great,” you grumbled. “I have a file.”

There was a moment of silence before he spoke up again, voice low and words slow and careful.

“I read about your parents.”

“Oh.” You turned your head enough to look at him, wrapping your arms around your stomach. “It was a long time ago.”

You did not tell him that you’d had nightmares for years, that you had sat in different offices and relived the horror over and over again in futile attempts to get some closure. You didn’t tell him that you had nearly crumbled going through it alone, knowing that your brother was out there but would never be there with you. It hurt, sometimes, to think about your parents. But the pain had become dull over the years, a sort of ache that you had gotten used to. Grayson’s grip had tightened on the steering wheel, jaw clenched but expression otherwise relaxed.

“I lost my parents as well,” he said. “I was a teenager, like you.”

You weren’t certain what to say to that. An apology seemed hollow. There were some dark things you could play off with a joke, but this was not one of them. You swallowed a lump in your throat and looked back out the window, fingers curling into your cardigan.

“There is a lot of tragedy in the world,” you finally said.

“There is,” he agreed. “I guess I just…” He paused, frowning as he tried to find the right words. “I was in a really dark place for a very long time after. There’s still a lot of anger in me about it.”

“That’s normal,” you said.

“I just wanted to say that the path you took is one that I admire,” he said.

At first, you weren’t certain you heard him correctly. Turning back to face him, you stared at him with wide eyes. He slowed to a stop at a red light and turned to meet your shocked gaze, a sad smile on his face.

“That was a weird thing to say, wasn’t it?” he asked.

“I… no,” you stammered. “I don’t think so. I’m just confused.”

What was there to admire in the path that you had taken? You were simply a journalist, driven by the truth and a desire to let people know about the shadows lurking just beneath the surface of their world. You weren’t the one who actually brought people to justice. You just showed the truth and hoped that someone would do something about it. For a large part of your professional career, you had felt as if you were simply screaming into the dark.

“You took your tragedy and turned it into a good thing,” he said. Turning back to watch the road, the smile on his face twisted into something pained. “Not everyone is capable of doing that.”

You were speechless. You barely knew anything about this man, but here he was, laying admiration at your feet. Warmth building in your chest, you turned away from him, pressing a flushed cheek to the window. Unsure of what the appropriate response was, you simply remained silent.

When Grayson let you out of the car, the pressure of his hand on the small of your back felt just a little bit warmer.

\---

“So, what’s the plan for your story moving forward?”

You looked up from your sandwich. Dick Grayson popped another chip in his mouth, somber mood from the morning completely gone. He had been mostly absent during the morning after his sweep of the building. Although you knew that he’d been keeping an eye on you, he’d stayed mostly out of sight while you worked. When you broke for lunch, he’d pulled a chair up to your desk to sit across from you and placed a bag from the deli just down the street in front of you. Although he’d drawn a few stares from reporters near you, you’d been quietly glad for the company. Since the odd conversation that morning, you’d wanted to see what information you could get out of the detective.

“Well,” you said, reaching for your coffee mug, “since my main source within the Malina has become hostile, I can’t get much more information on that front. I’ll have to focus on either the police connection angle or the Gotham connection.”

Grayson let out a thoughtful noise, reaching for his own coffee. You’d reluctantly let him use your extra mug, although you’d advised him that if he broke it you would make sure he regretted it.

“Which do you think you’ll focus on?” he asked.

For just a moment, you hesitated. Yes, Grayson had endeared you to him somewhat that morning. Yes, he seemed to have good intentions when it came to protecting you. Hell, he’d even gotten you more coffee throughout the morning before going back to whatever it was that he was doing. But how did you know that you could trust him to keep his mouth shut? He was still a cop. You’d prided yourself on keeping information from leaking before. If you told him more about the story, how did you know he would keep quiet? As close as he would be for the foreseeable future, it would be hard to keep anything from him. Until you could be sure he wasn’t going to leak anything, perhaps…

“Probably safest to look at the Gotham angle, first,” you said. “It’s not a direct line to Tiger Shark, but I’ve got a couple of sources close to the Whisper gang.”

“You know, I have some connections back in Gotham,” Grayson said. He propped his chin on his fist, eyes warm as he watched you finish off your sandwich. “If nothing else, they might be able to get you to the right people.”

“Oh?” you prompted, ignoring the displeased growls of the rusalka. The sandwich had only made your hunger worse, but you couldn’t let it show.

“Vicki Vale dated my adoptive father years back,” he said, casually, as if he hadn’t just dropped the name of one of the most well-known investigative reporters in the state. “We still keep in touch, and she’ll probably be happy to share some information and contacts with you if it means helping a story. Jim Gordon is an old friend too, although he’s less likely to share files.”

“Jim Gordon,” you said, color draining from your face. “As in Police Commissioner Jim Gordon?”

“Yeah.” Grayson smiled, a more devious glint in his eye as you choked on your sandwich. “Want me to have them get in touch with you?”

“Uh… yes. Please.” You continued to sit there, shell-shocked.

Grayson just nodded before he got up and cleaned off your desk. Still trying to process the information that had just been dropped on you, you merely grunted as he wished you luck with the rest of your day and disappeared once more.

_Just who the hell was Dick Grayson?_

\---

Guillermo Barrera hid in the shadows of his targets home, smiling as he waited. The dog had been easy to bribe and had been more than happy to be locked out in the backyard. The locks were easy to pick, there were no alarms, the dog was friendly and stupid, and she lived alone. The Ukrainians were clearly less efficient and professional than they had first let on if they had failed to kill such an easy target.

That, or he would have to inform his employer that someone in the Malina was working against their best interests.

The door opened and he shifted in his hiding spot. No lights flicked on. Barrera slid a knife from the sheath at his belt and listened.

“If anything happens, call me immediately.”

A male voice, slight Jersey accent, baritone. The protective detail. Not an issue.

“Right. Thank you, detective, but I should be fine. You don’t need to babysit me in my own home.”

Female voice, thick Ukrainian accent, soft and lilting. That would be his target. The information he’d been given stated that she was stubborn and less than careful when it came to her own security.

It was almost too easy.

There was a bit more small talk, the protective detail keeping his tone friendly while the target became increasingly agitated. After an abrupt dismissal, the front door slammed. The target let out a heavy sigh and her foot steps moved closer to him. Muscles coiled to strike, Barrera counted each step until she finally came into view.

Mid 20s, under average height. The target was pretty in a severe sort of way. Sharp eyes, dark clothes. Normally, she would be the type that he wanted to have a bit of fun with. The serious ones always had the prettiest screams. But his employer had made it clear: get in, eliminate the target quickly and quietly, and get out. Once she had stepped past him, Barrera lunged out of the shadows, knife flashing forward. In between the ribs, less cleaning to do but quick while still being painful enough to get some enjoyment.

The target’s head turned and she caught the knife in her hand. Barrera stared, shocked, as blood dripped from her palm. It wasn’t possible. She had been distracted and he moved too fast. Not only that, but he was much taller than her. Stronger than her. But she held the knife in place.

Guillermo Barrera saw her eyes flash a bright yellow color. Her mouth curved into a wicked smile, teeth suddenly and impossibly sharp.

“Hungry,” a chorus of voices said from her gaping mouth.

He did not have time to scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy early holidays, y'all! ya girl has three weeks off for the holidays and i'm hoping to get a lot done on this story. i know there was a lot of jumping around (again) in this chapter, but i really wanted to get to the meat and potatoes of the story. i'm very, very excited to reveal more about reader/koshka and her past, as well as really get into some good ol' body horror. 
> 
> thank you all once again for your kind comments and kudos! i was beside myself when this story was at 69 kudos for a few days. dick would be proud.
> 
> see you next chapter!


	5. This is a Trick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: explicit violence, body horror, implied panic attack
> 
> _a million tears, a trillion times  
>  i've seen that glaze and glitch in your eyes_

It was your fault for being distracted. You’d been lost in thought, thinking about the files Vicki Vale ( _Vicki fucking Vale_ , of all people) was sending to you, thinking about what you could dig up on the enigma that was Detective Dick Grayson. In the blink of an eye, you had gone from full control to no longer being able to move your body. Time slowed as the rusalka’s cold grip hooked itself in your mind and limbs, skin stretching and pain echoing to your marrow.

**_DANGER._ **

The rusalka screamed and you flinched as more and more control was ripped from you. You were trapped within your own body as time stretched back into its proper flow. A flash of a knife in the darkness stopped and pain burned in your hand. You—no, the rusalka had caught the blade. Your eyes blinked and suddenly you could see in the darkness. A man stared down at you in shock, fighting for control of the knife. Your jaw cracked and popped, your teeth ached.

You were changing.

“Hungry,” the rusalka said in their chorus of voices.

Horrified, you tried to take control back, tried to fight against the cold locking you away.

_No,_ you screamed at the rusalka. _Please. Please don’t make me._

_Relax, sweet thing._ Even as your mouth gaped, the rusalka spoke to you in a sweet, soft tone. _We will not make you witness this one._

Just like that, everything went dark.

\---

_“I’m sorry. Your parents didn’t make it.”_

_“What happened? Who did this to them?”_

_“… I’m afraid we don’t know that information. But they died almost instantly. Please take comfort knowing that they did not feel any pain.”_

_“You have to tell me what happened, right? They were just out on a trip.”_

_“It was a terrible accident. We are so sorry for your loss.”_

_“No. No, that doesn’t make sense. You have to tell me.”_

_“We will keep you in our prayers.”_

\---

You came back to your senses tasting blood.

Pain lanced through your hand and jaw, making you whimper. You pressed your fingers to your face and flinched when warm, tacky blood smeared against your skin. Shaking, you realized you were kneeling, blood pooling at your knees.

The body in front of you was mangled almost beyond recognition. Intestines spilled over your lap, still warm, the rib cage ripped open. It did not take more than a glance for you to realize that the heart was missing. You refused to look at what remained of the body’s face. The throat had been ripped open, vertebrae visible. If you hadn’t known better, if you couldn’t feel bits of flesh stuck under your nails, you would have thought a wild animal was responsible.

_We had forgotten how filling man could be,_ the rusalka purred. _Do you not feel better, дочка? Is our hunger not sated?_

You did not answer the monster you harbored inside of you. Instead, you began to scream.

Scrambling backwards, you felt your back hit a wall and curled in on yourself. Bile rose in your throat and you squeezed your eyes shut. The blood in your mouth made you sick, but you could not make yourself throw up. Despite your horror, you felt full. Warm. Sated. It only made you feel sicker. You continued to scream and fisted your hands in your hair, tears spilling down your cheeks. The dog began to bark from the backyard, clawing frantically at the door.

At least your poor, innocent puppy hadn’t had to witness all of this. At least she was still alive.

Just as your scream trailed off into pained, heaving sobs, your front door slammed open. You screamed again and curled further in on yourself, tucking your face into your knees as your shaking became more violent. Your heart thundered in your chest, panic overtaking reason and the desperate voice of the rusalka. Warm hands rested on your shoulders and you flinched away, curling as tight as you could.

“Koshka!” The voice was familiar. Deep, warm. Hands moved to your own, and you realized only when they tightly clasped them that you and scratched bloody welts into your own arms. “Hey, look at me.”

You opened your eyes to find Dick Grayson crouched in front of you. The fear and desperation on his face was plain and only made you cry harder. The man was a cop. He was going to arrest you for murder and the government was going to discover the rusalka and you were going to be locked away and experimented on—

Grayson clasped your face in his large, warm hands and forced you to meet his gaze. Your breath caught in your throat on a sob.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

“Wh… what?” you sobbed.

“You have a lot of blood on you. Are you injured?”

“I… no?” You sniffled, confused at his response. Why wasn’t he screaming and putting you in handcuffs? “I don’t think so.”

“Does anything hurt?”

“Um.” You blinked. “My… my jaw. And my hands.”

Anger replaced the worry in his eyes. Grayson sat back, hands withdrawing from your face. You caught yourself at the last moment, almost leaning forward to chase the touch. Swallowing another sob, you wiped at your eyes with your sleeve. As covered as you were in blood, your clothes had already been ruined. Turning away from you, he turned to the body, inhaling sharply. You flinched at the sound, waiting for him to draw his gun on you or demand to know what the hell you really were. Instead, he ran a hand through his hair and let out a heavy sigh.

“I recognize this guy,” he said.

“What?”

No asking what you had done? No angry questions about how he had gotten into that state? Either Dick Grayson was a complete idiot or he had seen things much, much worse than this.

“Guillermo Barrera. He goes by Brutale when he’s on a job.” Crouching down next to the body, he shook his head. “Makes no sense why he’d come for you, though.”

“Why… why not?” you asked.

“Because.” Grayson turned to you, expression dark. “He doesn’t work for the Ukrainians. He works for Blockbuster.”

Your blood ran cold. What reason did Blockbuster have to come after you? With the vigilante giving him trouble, you’d avoided him. Let the ship sink itself, you’d thought. But here you were, his assassin’s blood in your mouth and his flesh warm in your stomach. Why bother? He had stayed far away from the Malina in the past, but now…

“Detective,” you mumbled. You flexed your hand, wincing as the movement pulled at the gash in your palm. “I… I don’t—”

“Don’t worry about it right now.” Grayson had turned to watch you, a warm smile on his face despite the carnage in front of him. “You can tell me later. For now, I need to call this in. I’ll come up with a story. Just try to stay calm for me. Okay?”

“Okay.”

In your state of shock, you were not going to turn down his sudden, gracious gift of making up a story to cover your brutal murder. It had been in self-defense, but the cannibalization was perhaps a step too far. Fighting back another wave of nausea, you turned and spat out the blood in your mouth, wiping at your lips and chin. Grayson called dispatch, sat down next to you, and held your hand until the first responders came.

The questions they all asked were the same, and you found yourself falling into an easy half-truth that Grayson helped you with minimally.

_What happened?_

“I came home and a man attacked me. The knife cut open my hand when I raised it to protect myself. I ran for the front door, opening it. He smashed my face into the wall and I lost consciousness. The detective found me when I woke up and started screaming.”

_How did you get these bruises on your jaw?_

“The man hit me and the other side of my face smashed into the wall.”

_Do you know what did this?_

“No.”

The last one was the biggest lie, the only one that made you hesitate each time. When the first detective came in to question you, Grayson had left you for the first time since he’d come into your house. You’d floundered without his warm presence, broken down into tears when you were pressed to describe the attack in further detail. The EMT had wiped off your face and hands to look at the dark bruises on your jaw and bandage your palm, had taken your clothes and allowed you to change into scrubs. Your dog had been cordoned off to a room in her kennel, whining and crying each time your voice hitched.

You felt weak. You felt helpless. And you hated every single second of it.

_Are you ready to listen to us now?_ the rusalka asked. There was no anger in the voice, no annoyance. Just endless, ancient patience.

_I told you not to,_ you answered. One of the EMTs had given you a shock blanket and you pulled it closer around you as you watched the body carted out of the house in a body bag. _I begged you not to._

_That man was there to kill you. To kill us,_ it pointed out. _We protected you and also fed. We fail to see the problem with this._

_The problem is that you KILLED AND ATE someone without my permission._ You closed your eyes, shivering. You wished they would let you change and shower already. _This is still my body. You can’t just… take control from me like that!_

There was a moment of silence, but you could still feel the cold presence of the rusalka. Then you felt it coil around your mind gently, the coldness of it somehow warm. It was, you realized after a moment, the closest the rusalka could get to a hug.

_We apologize. We did not mean to distress you in this way. Our only intention was to protect you and feed this body._

Tears welled in your eyes and you pressed the heels of your hands to them in an effort to stop from crying yet again. You couldn’t keep being weak like this.

_Just don’t do it again,_ you relented. _I appreciate you protecting me. But… I don’t want to eat a person ever again. I can’t do that._

_Hm. You are certain of this? The flesh of man… it has sated us in a way the raw poultry could not,_ the rusalka mused.

_I’m certain,_ you said. _T_ _his is my body. I will control what it consumes._

A moment of silence stretched and you watched the red and blue lights paint patterns on your walls.

_As you wish,_ the rusalka said. _We only ask that you let us keep our appetite under control._

_Deal,_ you said.

Grayson came to sit next to you on the couch and you opened your eyes, the rusalka slowly loosening their grip on your consciousness. The puppy had followed him and jumped up to settle on your lap, whining and nuzzling against your stomach.

“So,” he said.

“So,” you answered.

The detective let out a heavy sigh, rubbing at his eyes. He looked exhausted and you felt guilt weigh on your shoulders. How long had it been since he’d had a good night’s sleep? Had your scream interrupted his usual nightly routine? Had he had plans outside of you?

_Why did you even care?_

“Are you okay?” he asked, brow furrowed.

You glared at him.

“Okay,” he said. His expression lightened and he gave a half-hearted chuckle. “Stupid question. You’re not okay.”

“No,” you muttered. “I’m not. My house is a crime scene.”

“I don’t think you can stay here safely anymore, either. I’ll work on finding a place for you to stay in the morning but, well…” He rubbed at the back of his neck, gaze dropping to his feet. “I think it would be best if you stayed in my house tonight. I’ve got a spare room and if something happens, I’ll be right there.”

“I also owe you an explanation for… this,” you said, motioning to your blood-splattered walls.

“That would be nice, but don’t feel like you have to tell me,” he said. Confused, you watched him stand up and offer you a hand with narrowed eyes. “You’ve been through a lot tonight and putting yourself back through it could be more upsetting for you. If you want to talk, I’ll listen. But no pressure.”

Ignoring his outstretched hand, you bundled the puppy up in your arms and shrugged off the shock blanket before standing up. Grayson did not seem bothered by the slight, keeping up a warm, comforting smile as he escorted you to your room to pack a bag for yourself and the dog. You shoved in only the essentials before making your way around cops you did not know, Grayson’s hand resting on your back as you kept your eyes on the ground. No one stopped you. No one even looked at you. You’d expected at least one person to stop you and request another interview in the morning. But you could have been a ghost, wandering out of one of the last safe places you’d had.

Grayson’s house was… different than you had expected. From the (limited) knowledge you had of the man, you’d expected it to be warm and homey, maybe a few potted plants in the windows and an overabundance of throw blankets. Instead, the place felt barely lived in. The furniture looked new and unused, like his home was a showroom instead of a place where a person lived. There were a couple of paintings on the walls, but otherwise it was undecorated. Feeling slightly uncomfortable, you followed him into the kitchen and set down a bowl and some food for the dog while he made cups of tea for both of you. The kitchen felt just as sterile and bare, and you had to fight the urge to open up the fridge to see if he even had food in there.

“I’m not really here a lot, so I apologize if it’s not very home-y,” Grayson said, handing a steaming cup of chamomile tea to you. “If I’m not at work, I’m either in the gym or making trips to Gotham for family stuff.”

“It’s fine,” you mumbled, taking a sip of the tea and leaning back against the counter. You felt awkward, barging into his life so suddenly and taking up what seemed to be precious time. “I appreciate you letting me stay here.”

Grayson just shrugged and you fidgeted as an awkward silence stretched between you. Finally, you decided to bite the bullet and set your mug down on the counter.

“I’m the one who killed that guy,” you said. You let your gaze drop to your feet, shoes still stained with dried blood. “I don’t remember it, but I know that I did it.”

Eyebrows raised, Grayson sipped at his tea and waited for you to continue.

“What I’m about to say is going to sound completely insane, but I promise it’s the truth. And you have to keep it secret. You can’t tell anyone what I’m about to tell you.”

A nod, silence pushing you to continue, voice shaking.

“On Thursday, when I went to the docks, the person who shot at me didn’t miss.” You swallowed a lump in your throat, pushing back the rusalka’s worried presence in your mind. “My brother killed me and my body fell in the water. There was something in the bay and it decided to make me its host or something.”

Before he could respond, you found yourself barreling on, nerves making you babble.

“I can’t eat food like I normally do and I threw up all of this… black goo when I got home after I woke up that night. The thing inside me… it’s just so hungry all of the time and I think it’s going to change me.” You shook your head. “No, it is changing me. I met this guy who drew it out and warned me that I wasn’t going to be human anymore. When I got attacked it took over and made me lose consciousness and the next thing I knew I had ripped that guy apart and his guts were in my lap and I think I ate his heart and—”

“Whoa, whoa.” Grayson put down his tea and stepped closer, putting his hands on your shoulders. “Take a breath. Try to calm down.”

“Oh fuck you,” you snapped, shrugging his hands off and pressing further back against the counter. “I just _murdered someone_ and I’ve been dealing with the fact that I’m turning into a monster. Don’t tell me to fucking _calm down._ ”

“Okay.” He raised his hands, taking a step back and frowning. “Probably didn’t word that in the best way. You were starting to spiral, that’s all.”

“Why are you so calm about this?” you demanded. “I just told you that I have a monster living inside of me and I ate a man’s heart!”

“One of us has to stay calm about this, and I’ve dealt with some pretty weird shit,” he said. He shrugged, crossing his arms. “I’m a cop. I’m from Gotham. Monster possession isn’t that weird.”

You wanted to punch him. Since he’d broken into your house you’d been terrified of how he would react, but here he was, acting like the whole thing was utterly mundane. You had cannibalized an assassin and admitted that you had died. But here Dick Grayson was, smiling and casual. Annoyance and anger were quickly beginning to replace your panic and fear.

_Why are you angry? Is it not good that he is understanding of our plight?_ the rusalka asked.

You ignored them, shaking your head.

“I’m not going to tell anyone about this either, you know.” He leaned down, tipping his head so that he could look you in the eye. “I promise. This stays between us. Whatever the monster in you did, it was out of self-defense. Just try not to let it eat someone again, yeah?”

The rusalka grumbled and you immediately nodded in agreement.

“Okay.” Warm smile back on his face, Grayson placed your mug back in your hands and nodded at the doorway. “The guest room is at the end of the hall if you want to go change. Bathroom is right next to it. A warm bath might help you out.”

Shrugging, you slipped away from the counter and made your way down the hall without saying another word. Truthfully, you were still pissed at him. Why was he not more freaked out about your status as both a person with a monster in them and an undead(ish?) murderer? Had he known somehow? Did he have some sort of bug in your house, something to monitor you with? There was just simply no way that someone could be that relaxed and unphased about the situation. Not without some prior knowledge. You slung your bag onto the guest bed and dug out your pajamas before heading to the bathroom.

The rusalka remained silent but present in your mind as you shut the door and stripped off the scrubs. It was difficult not to feel on edge, everything in the house unfamiliar and a man you barely even knew just off in another room. Drawing the bath as hot as you could, you hesitated for a moment before locking the door and slipping into the warm bath. You let your eyes slip closed, tension melting from your limbs.

_You have always liked the water._

The rusalka doesn’t phrase it as a question. You sighed and slipped further into the water, submerged to your chin.

_Not even a moment to myself, huh?_ you asked.

_We are part of you now. We thought it would be prudent to learn more about you. And for you to learn about us._

You considered it for a moment, trying to let the warmth seep through the chill that had settled into your bones. _The city that I grew up in was a port town,_ you said. _Odesa. I walked by the ocean every day. The water reminds me of home._

_Perhaps it was fitting that we found you in the water._ There was an amused lilt to their voice, a little brush against your bones. _And perhaps… we must learn to share this body with you._

_Well, first rule is don’t just take control away from me ever again,_ you snapped. Consent was important, even if they were an ancient being. _Just ask me if you want to take control, or give me better warning if there’s danger. If you do that, I’ll make sure to keep both of us fed properly._

The rusalka seemed to mull over the idea, curling around you. The embrace seemed almost physical now, their presence more solid than it had been previously. If you had not known that you were alone in a locked bathroom, you would have thought they were there with you, cold and scaled skin brushing against your own. The rusalka touched your injured hand, cool and soothing.

_Very well. We are growing stronger, so we will communicate with you more. And we will follow this rule._ The rusalka sighed, the sound seeming to echo around you. Goosebumps prickled at the back of your neck and you suppressed a shiver, fully submerging yourself in the water. Their voice seemed to echo, louder despite everything else being muted while you were submerged. _You are already changing, дочка. We are changing with you. This night was a first step in our journey together._

_What do you mean?_ you asked.

_We only ask that you do not panic,_ they said. _Rest, little one. Take this time to gather yourself. And trust your protector. He has his secrets but he has a good heart. He will keep us safe._

_Well that’s not some infuriating, muddled bullshit._ You huffed, pushing back up and taking a deep breath.

The rusalka did not answer, the cold presence gone. You huffed, annoyed, and grabbed the bar of soap to scrub at your skin. Only once your skin was red and raw and your hair thoroughly washed did you get out of the tub. You started to dry yourself off with a towel but froze. Two things were very wrong.

First, the gash in your palm had disappeared. You unwrapped the bandage and stared at the skin. Not even a scar had been left, just smooth, unblemished skin.

The second was that scales had begun to appear on your ankles and the inside of your thighs.

If you’d had any doubts about whether what was happening to you was real, they disappeared as you touched the small cluster of deep green scales on your right thigh.

“Oh,” you said. “Fuck.”

\---

The man waited until the little one was asleep before he opened the door. She had shut herself in the room after discovering the first of the changes and had not left. He had left her alone, perhaps sensing that speaking was not what she was in the mood for. The little one had, as she called it, freaked out. Thankfully, this time it had been silent. For well over an hour she had sat and stared at her ankles, at her legs, until exhaustion took over and sleep claimed her.

But they were always awake. They were always watching.

As the little one slept, dreams troubled, he came into the room. Each step was silent and precise, quiet as he approached the bed.

They waited.

A heavy sigh left the man when he saw that she was asleep, eyes closed and breathing even. The little one let out a soft snore and he hesitated for a moment. His pulse quickened, his breathing hitched. A myriad of emotions rushed over his face before he reached out and gently pulled the blankets over her sleeping form. He paused, hand braced beside her head, before he withdrew and began to turn away from her.

Although they had made a promise, the rusalka had things that they needed to say. They sank into the little one’s skin and opened their eyes. Already, her human vision was changing, one small blink letting them see him clearly in the dark.

“Are you heading out as your other self?” they asked.

The man jumped, whipping around and staring at them with wide eyes. The confusion lasted only a moment before a knowing look replaced it.

“You aren’t Koshka,” he said.

Sitting up, the rusalka noted the return of a hitch in his breath when the blankets pooled at their waist. Humans, they thought, truly were fascinating creatures. Pushing their hair out of their eyes, they tilted their head as they observed him.

“We are not,” they answered. “We promised the little one earlier that we would not do this.”

“I won’t tell her,” he said. “Not sure what you meant by my other self, though.”

The rusalka mimicked the way the little one showed that she did not believe something, crossing their arms and raising an eyebrow. He cleared his throat, shifting on his feet.

“We will not tell her that you are the Nightwing,” they said. He stiffened, eyes widening further. “We are very old, black bird. We know many things.”

The black bird stood, uncertain, clearly not knowing how to react.

“Do you plan on letting the little one know?” they asked.

“I…” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. I’m hoping I don’t have to. I just didn’t think things would escalate this quickly.”

“You want to keep her safe,” they said, voice soft. They liked this man, with his soft heart and righteous anger. He reminded them of the little one, if her heart had not hardened so. “But do not confuse keeping her ignorant with keeping her protected. She is smart, she will figure it out if you do not tell her.”

The black bird grunted, running a hand over his face. Before he could answer, the rusalka continued.

“We would advise you not to do anything too foolish in the near future,” they said, laying back down. “And we appreciate you keeping this talk secret.”

“Uh… right,” he said, taking a slow step backwards. “Have a… good night?”

The rusalka closed their eyes and went back to their passive state, watching him leave the room and quietly close the door behind him.

They went back to watching and waiting, curling close around the little one to soothe her troubled mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoo, another chapter down! strap in, darlings, we've got some stuff that's gonna be going down. thank y'all for your continued support! i'm hoping to have the next chapter up before christmas. see y'all then!


	6. Limitless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: body horror, mention of violence, emotional constipation 
> 
> _a persistent call inside a strange darkness  
>  then i saw you, who resembles me  
> i am you and you are me_

Every night, you became a teenager again. Your brain turned against you, placed you back into the days when you had been helpless and scared and alone in the world. Every night, in your dreams, you saw the sheets pulled back from what was left of their bodies. You could still smell burnt flesh and taste bile rising at the back of your throat. On some nights their twisted bodies would reanimate, terrible, hoarse screams leaving their gaping mouths. On others, they remained still and the silence reminded you that you were supposed to have been with them. Your parents had died and you had lived simply because of one stupid, selfish teenage whim.

Each night you shattered into pieces all over again. You had long given up hope of putting yourself back together again. Some things, you reasoned, were simply meant to remain broken.

But lately the dreams had begun to shift near the end. When things shifted towards the nightmarish, the ground dropped out from under you and you plunged into the cold depths. The water embraced you, soothed your frazzled nerves. You saw a young woman, white lace and fine skirts tangled around her limbs. Dark hair floated like tendrils around her head, skin pale in the moonlight filtering through the waves. Her eyes never opened, but you laced your fingers with hers when she reached for you. Her skin was cold, so cold it burned, but you did not dare let go.

_Довіряйте чорній пташці. Залишайтеся під його крилом._

A warm hand shook you, fingers curled around your shoulder. You startled awake, the taste of salt water still on the tip of your tongue. Cold glass pressed against your cheek, eyes crusted with sleep. Straightening up, you ran your hands over your face and turned to face Dick Grayson. His eyes flickered over your face for a moment before he faced forward again, hand leaving your shoulder to rest on the steering wheel. You straightened in the passenger seat of his car, glancing out the window at the dark, towering buildings crowding around you.

“We’re here,” he said, voice soft. “I can wait in the car.”

You followed his gaze to the building in front of you. The Gotham Central Police Department was just as dark and depressing as the other buildings around it, the gleaming silver of its name at street level the only thing making it stand out. You took a deep breath and retrieved your backpack from the back seat, fingers shaking. Commissioner Gordon had agreed to meet with you, and you had no idea what to expect.

“No,” you said, voice tired. “I think you should come with me, Grayson.”

“Extending a bit of an olive branch?” he asked, smile curving up just enough to show off a dimple.

“Being smart,” you said. You unbuckled and got out of the car, swinging your backpack over one shoulder. “Having you there will make him feel more comfortable, so I’ll likely get more information. Also, I don’t trust that someone won’t try to kill me while I’m in there.”

“Well.” Grayson exited as well, locking the car and coming around to stand by your side. “I guess that’ll be good enough for me.”

You did not answer. Instead, you tipped your chin up and strode towards the building. Grayson stayed half a step behind you, his presence (although you would never admit it) soothing your nerves. Gotham made you feel off balance, the atmosphere of the city somehow even more oppressive than Blüdhaven’s. You tugged at the hem of your skirt, heels clicking against the polished marble flooring as you entered the building. Although you knew your outfit was long enough to cover the smattering of scales that had appeared on your thighs, you felt like every person that passed you could somehow feel the little changes taking you over. A cacophony of noise washed over you as you approached the reception desk, overwhelming you for a split second.

Grayson placed a hand on the small of your back, centering you, and you took a deep breath as the desk cop frowned up at you.

“Koshka and Grayson,” you said. “Here to see Commissioner Gordon.”

The cop, a young man whose shirt was buttoned crookedly and who looked at you like you had just personally ruined his day simply by existing, heaved a sigh and dragged a clipboard closer to him. After a brief pause, he waved a hand dismissively.

“16th floor, head on up. Secretary can let him know you’re here,” he said, Gotham accent thick.

Before you ccould thank him he’d already turned his attention to something else and Grayson cleared his throat next to you, vaguely amused.

“Let’s go,” he said. “Don’t want to keep Gordon waiting.”

You briefly considered snapping back at him, or at the guard, but decided against it. Scowling, you let him lead you to the elevators, stewing over the dismissal all the way up to the 16th floor. By the time you shuffled off the elevator and let Grayson lead you towards the Commissioner’s office, your mood had landed squarely in the foul category.

“I hate this city,” you snarled as Grayson motioned for you to sit in a chair. “I hate cops.”

“Not exactly the ideal place to be airing that opinion,” he chuckled. “Stay here, I’ll let them know we’re here.”

You pulled out your phone as he approached the secretary’s desk, ignoring the swell of something unpleasant when you heard his voice dip into something more intimate, flirty. _Jealous,_ the rusalka purred. You ignored it, scrolling through your email. One from Law, instructing you to work carefully and stay away from the office (but still continue to work on your stories and send your editors drafts, of course). One from your editor, who asked that you send your stories for review a few days earlier than usual to give proper time for legal to make sure it didn’t put the paper in any sort of real peril. Two from Vicki Vale with more files on Ukrainian ties to a trafficking ring that was dissolved a few years ago. You were drafting a response to thank her when the office door opened and Jim Gordon walked out.

Your first impression of the man was that he looked utterly and completely exhausted. There was a slope to his shoulders that made him look twenty years older and the wrinkles around the corners of his mouth and eyes were from stress instead of laughter. His hair was a dark grey, only a few shocks of red remaining. He looked down at you through thick square frames, then over at Grayson, who was still chatting up his secretary.

“Ms. Koshka, I presume,” he said with the kind of weariness that came from a lifetime of putting up with bullshit.

“Commissioner Gordon,” you answered. You stood, taking his offered hand and giving it a firm shake. His eyes darted to your bandaged hand, but he said nothing. “Thank you for offering to meet with me.”

“Thank you for coming,” he said. “Dick told me about your situation. I’m glad to help however I can.”

“You don’t mind if I record our conversation, do you?” you asked. Gordon motioned for you to go into his office. You paused for a second, glanced over at Grayson. Watched as his eyes traced the column of the pretty secretary’s throat, saw the way his smile turned a little more wicked. You beat down the hissing rusalka, refusing to listen to whatever she had to say. Instead, you walked into Gordon’s office by yourself. “If you want anything to be off the record, we can turn off my recorder and speak privately.”

Gordon glanced over at the detective before turning to you with a strange look on his face. It pissed you off. “Should Detective Grayson come in with us, or--?”

“Oh, no.” You raised your voice enough so that he could hear you as you entered the office. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt anything. Would you mind closing the door behind you for some privacy, Commissioner?”

The ugly little part of you preened when you caught a glimpse of Grayson’s face before the door shut, his expression shocked and more than a little bit hurt.

 _Petty little thing,_ the rusalka said. _Do you take pleasure in hurting him?_

 _Maybe a little,_ you admitted.

_Did witnessing him flirt with another female make you hurt? I could feel your little jealousy, sweet thing._

_Shut up,_ you snarled.

Commissioner Gordon sat behind his desk, sharp eyes watching as you pulled your phone from your backpack and set it on the desk and started recording. You leaned back in your chair, hands clasped together in your lap.

“What can you tell me about Tiger Shark and his interests in my city?” you asked.

“Straight to the point, then.” Gordon sighed, leaning forward and folding his hands on his desk. “As you’ve likely already pieced together yourself, there was a trafficking racket in Gotham a while back. The Ukrainians had a little bit of involvement, but it was mostly Black Mask and the Italians who had a stake in it. A few of their sites were attacked by third parties and those trafficking rings were dissolved.”

“By third parties,” you said, “you mean some of your local vigilantes.”

A moment of silence. Then Gordon smiled, no humor in the expression. “You’ve been talking to Vicki Vale,” he said.

“I have my sources,” you answered, baring your teeth when you smiled.

The look on his face was one you had grown very accustomed to seeing on law enforcement dealing with you: annoyance, exhaustion, and acceptance that you were, in fact, going to be a persistent pain in the ass. It warmed your heart to see. Although you needed information, it felt good to be difficult in small ways.

“You’re quite the reporter, Ms. Koshka,” he said. “I read your article when Dick asked if I’d be willing to talk to you. You’re putting yourself into some very dangerous waters, here.”

“If it wasn’t dangerous, then I wouldn’t be doing my job,” you countered. “And you still haven’t answered my question.”

Jim Gordon sighed, lifting his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. You merely smiled, the rusalka purring at your own satisfaction.

“The first thing that you should understand about Tiger Shark, Ms. Koshka, is that he is attracted to the opulence and wealth. With Blockbuster opening casinos and bringing in a new cash flow to your part of the state, it was natural for him to move into the territory. The trafficking that had been happening in our harbors had the potential to be very profitable. Since the Malina have such a strong hold there and have opened up the ports to new product, it also makes sense that he’d partner up with them.” He paused, brow furrowing. “You do know what they are trafficking?”

“The usual, I assume. I haven’t been able to actually get a look inside any of the warehouses or get my hands on a shipping manifesto. But back in the homeland, they usually dabbled in munitions and drugs,” you answered.

Gordon’s face darkened. “I’m afraid it’s worse than that, Ms. Koshka,” he said. “Because we believe that Tiger Shark and your Ukrainians have picked up where the Italians left off and are trafficking metahumans.”

Your blood ran cold. “Oh,” you said.

It made sense, of course. The Malina primarily trafficked weapons out of the ports, but it just so happened that they were trying to move into a different kind of weapon. Human weapons, ones that had the potential for mass destruction.

“I doubt that the Malina actually has any metahumans to traffick at the moment,” you finally continued. “Does Tiger Shark have any contacts?”

“He does,” Gordon said. “He’s likely making a deal with your people to get them the human weapons that they want in exchange for firepower on his end. Probably trying to get leverage with Blockbuster and get shares in his new casinos.”

“Which means that the Malina likely have their own connections with Blockbuster and his people.” You rubbed at your temples. “Clearly I had only scratched the surface of all of this.”

“If you want some unsolicited advice, Ms. Koshka,” Gordon said, voice soft, “I think it would be best if you keep from digging any deeper into this story. Leave this to the police before you put yourself into even further danger.”

You bristled. “I appreciate the advice, Commissioner,” you said. “But once I have my teeth in a story, I do not let it go. I will only stop when these people are brought to justice.”

To your surprise, Gordon only smiled, aged and weary. Then he opened a drawer on his desk and passed several files over to you. “That’s what I thought you would say. You’re a good reporter.” He nodded to the manilla folders. “Our files on Tiger Shark, with a few redactions for the protection of some undercover operatives. Use this information wisely, Ms. Koshka. I suspect that there are people on the Blüdhaven force that don’t want these deals to fall through. Tread carefully. And go easy on Dick. His heart’s in the right place.”

Taking the files, you placed them in your backpack before reaching out and ending the recording on your phone. You were already trying to review the information you already had, looking for small clues that you could have missed that showed what all the major players were truly up to.

“Thank you, Commissioner Gordon,” you said. You stood, shaking his hand once more. “I appreciate your time. If I need anything else, I’ll reach out.”

“Good luck, Koshka,” he said.

His gaze on your back was heavy as you let yourself out of the office, grip on the strap of your backpack white knuckled. The sound of the door closing behind you felt near deafening, your brain still desperately trying to connect all of the puzzle pieces that had been laid out before you. The secretary’s desk was vacant when you looked up at it. You frowned, glancing around the office. Grayson was nowhere to be seen.

“Useless,” you snarled. “Some bodyguard.”

 _But you are also perfectly capable of defending yourself,_ the rusalka said. Their touch on your mind soothed you, smoothed out the creases in your mind. _Is this not a good opportunity for us? You did not want his protection, and now you are free to move as you please._

You let out a soft hum, slipping out into the hall and glancing around you. No one to be seen. You pulled one of the files from your bag, opening it and scanning the information. The redactions were, blessedly, minimal. Footsteps echoed to your right and you quickly closed the folder, head snapping up in the direction of the noise. Dick Grayson walked towards you, hair mussed and a satisfied grin on his face.

You felt a small piece of your heart shatter at his disheveled state.

 _Silly, stupid girl,_ you snarled at yourself. _You know better than this._

“How did it go?” he asked, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to smooth it out.

“Fine.” Your voice was colder than you had thought it would be. It made the detective pause, blinking in confusion. “Did you have fun?”

There was no mistaking the hurt on his face at the poisonous question, his hand falling to his side. “Koshka,” he said. “I—”

“Hopefully you’re done with your distraction for the day,” you said, voice cold and detached. Cold fury simmered in your veins, although you did not want to think about why you were feeling so furious. “I’m finished here, unless you have anything else to do here.”

Grayson was quiet for a moment, dark blue eyes swimming with some kind of pain you did not want to digest. When he forced a smile, you almost felt guilty. Almost.

“No,” he said. “I don’t have anything else I need to do. Let’s go home.”

You stared at his back as he led you back to the elevators, wondered if there were any marks hiding under his well-tailored suit.

 _We understand now why you do not have friends, little one,_ the rusalka said.

You ignored them, trying and failing to convince yourself that you did not feel guilty for the slump to Grayson’s shoulders and the sudden quiet that fell between the two of you for the reminder of the drive back to Blüdhaven.

\---

 _Have you considered that he was distracting the secretary in order to give you more privacy?_ The rusalka asked.

You lounged in the tub, eyes closed. Upon returning to Grayson’s house, you had refused to speak another word to him and locked yourself in the bathroom, stripping and climbing into the tub. The water soothed you, felt like your true home. Of course, the rusalka had not relented on guilt tripping you about your actions in Gotham.

 _I think that he was following in his adoptive father’s footsteps as an insatiable flirt,_ you answered. You’d done your digging on Grayson, of course. If anything, finding out that he was Bruce fucking Wayne’s adopted son only made you even more furious at him. _Leave me alone._

 _You are upset about his flirting,_ they said, ignoring your request. _You are attracted to the detective?_

 _Fuck no,_ you spat. Your fingers curled against the porcelain sides of the tub, face scrunching in fury. _He is a handsome man, but I am not attracted to him._

 _You are a terrible liar, little one,_ the rusalka purred. They wrapped themselves closer around you as you let your head slip under the water. _We hear the way your heart beats for him._

 _Please don’t try to play matchmaker,_ you sighed. The world was muffled under the water, peaceful. _I have bigger things to worry about, anyways._

 _You mean the men who killed you,_ they hissed. _The evils they commit in the sacred waters._

 _I need to stop them._ You paused, thought for a moment. _We need to stop them, rusalka. These people terrorized my hometown. I do not want them to terrorize this new home of mine as well._

 _We also do not want this._ The rusalka stretched under your skin, pressing against the confines of your body. _We want the happiness of the little one. We want their blood in the water._

 _Then let’s focus on that, okay?_ You asked. _What do you think my next step should be?_

_You would ask this of us?_

_Yes._ You still had not surfaced, but your lungs did not burn either. _If we’re going to be stuck together, then I want to know your opinion. What would you do if you were me?_

 _Hm._ The rusalka was thoughtful. You could feel them coiling and uncoiling, unsettled in your bones. _We would slip into the waters and strike in the darkness. Put fear into their hearts._

You pondered this for a moment, opening your eyes and surfacing. You traced your fingers over the side of your neck, a dark thrill going through you when you felt small slits in the skin there. Maybe these changes were good. Maybe it was this transformation into something not human that would finally let you succeed in your work.

 _Let’s wait until dark,_ you said, shuddering as the skin on your neck closed and smoothed back out. _I have an idea._

\---

Dick Grayson grunted as he worked out a kink in his neck, fingers massaging at the sore spot. He’d been perched in the same spot for several hours, monitoring the activity on the docks around Blockbuster’s casino. Neon flashes created long shadows from the security guards, making each movement almost comical. It seemed to be a mostly quiet night, the usual rich and famous docking their yachts and stumbling their way back out when they’d had their fill of throwing away their money. He’d hoped to see at least one of the Ukrainians out that night, but had no luck yet. Dick was close to calling it a night, already planning how he would slip out the next night to continue surveillance.

Something moved in the water.

Putting down his binoculars for a moment, he blinked and put them back up to his eyes. Maybe it was just one of the little sharks that populated the bay. But when he looked again, the shadow had slipped away.

“Great,” he muttered. “Now I’m seeing things.”

That was probably a sign to pack it up, head back to the house and check in on Koshka. She’d been quiet all evening, locking herself first in the bathroom and then in the spare room. When he’d gone to check on her, she’d refused to open the door for him. Dick was pretty sure she hadn’t eaten all day and was worried that perhaps distracting Gordon’s secretary had been a bad move. The anger and hurt in her eyes had been haunting him since they returned.

Distracted by his musing on his house guest, Dick did not notice when a hand reached out from the dark waters and dragged a guard down into the depths. He did not see the blood slowly rising to the surface of the bay. But he did see a small figure pull themselves out of the water, cursing when he recognized the glowing eyes. Neon cast a haunting picture on Koshka, dark clothes clinging wet to her figure.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He pulled out a grappling line, swinging down towards the casino.

What the hell was she doing there? How had she snuck out? Had she been gone before he had slipped out into the night? Panic lit up his nerves, made him stumble on the first surface he vaulted off of before he regained his footing and eased into a smooth tumble to the ground. Koshka was already watching him, dark eyes ringed with luminous gold. In the shadows, parts of her seemed to glow with a sickly light. Bioluminescence, he realized. Water dripped from her sodden clothes, hair plastered to her face and neck. In that moment she looked terrible and deadly and beautiful.

“Nightwing,” she said. It wasn’t the chorus of voices he had heard from the…thing inside of her. Just her, rasping and soft. She pushed her hair from her face, fingers turned to talons and some kind of webbing growing in the spaces between. “Have you come to be a pain in my ass?”

It took Dick a moment to gather his thoughts enough to reply. She had gills now, delicate and fluttering on the sides of her slender neck. And, he suspected, those glowing bits on her skin were likely scaled. How much had she changed in the past 24 hours?

“I actually hadn’t expected to see you here,” he finally said. “What--?”

He didn’t get a chance to fully ask his question. Koshka’s gaze snapped to something just over his left shoulder and before he could react, her hands were on his shoulders.

“Hold your breath,” she said.

Then she was shoving him backwards, both of them toppling over the side of the docks and into the cold, dark water of the bay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, this is a chapter. i'm so sorry it took me this long to get this chapter done but life sort of got in the way. i started working on this while i was on a cruise and then, well... the world sort of caught on fire lol. i'm going to try to focus on getting this done (for real this time) since i'm going to have a lot of spare time on my hands. i did not edit this before posting, so please forgive me if there are any glaring mistakes. i'll try to go in and fix some of them. 
> 
> as always, thank you for reading! hopefully i'll be back soon with the next update (and hopefully it'll be a better chapter than this one). i love you all, please stay safe and healthy!!


	7. Sirens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: explicit violence, implied past sexual assault, belligerent sexual tension, just a shitload of dialogue
> 
> _jump this ship and crash into the waves  
>  break my back on jagged rocks again  
> hold my ears to deafen out the sound  
> ignore these voices that will drag me down_

Hitting the cold water, you wrapped your arms tight around Nightwing and hoped that he’d listened to you. You kicked further down into the water, eyes adjusting as you stared up at the surface. The first round drifted just past your cheek, muzzle flashing just above you. The second grazed your shoulder, making you wince. You weren’t deep enough. But the vigilante was also heavy, limbs thrashing in the water. He couldn’t breathe, but you also couldn’t let him surface yet. More shots were fired and you shoved the vigilante away from you, hoping he was paying some attention to the situation. Gritting your teeth, you kicked up to the surface and dragged yourself from the water.

 _Let us take care of the situation,_ the rusalka hissed. _We will eliminate the threats._

 _Go nuts,_ you said, preparing yourself for the loss of control.

Instead of your body being ripped away, you felt the cold touch of the rusalka bleed into your limbs, skin and muscle and bone suddenly shared. You were still aware, still present as they assessed the situation through your eyes. Two guards had their pistols levelled at you, reeking of adrenaline. A flash of neon illuminated the scene and time seemed to slow. One of them curled their finger around the trigger, the other opened his mouth to raise an alarm. Their guns, you realized, were silenced. Best not to alert the patrons inside if there was trouble. These men were, you realized, likely quick, quiet, and efficient killers.

 _They are nothing compared to us,_ the rusalka whispered. Then, they got to work.

It was hard to track your own movements, even as your senses heightened and quickened to match the speed with which the rusalka moved. The talons on your right hand shredded the throat of the guard who had been about to yell. Your body slammed into his, sending both of you toppling over. Blood sprayed warm and thick over your face, salty on your tongue. Before the life had fully drained from his eyes the rusalka had launched you at the other guard. A bullet hit the ground near your feet, aim thrown by the stench of fear that leaked from him. Your jaw unhinged, second row of razor sharp teeth sliding into place. Fingers gripped at his hair and you watched with dawning horror as the rusalka bit off the man’s face. He screamed until he began to choke on blood, gurgling noises rising from the bloody mess that had once been whole. The rusalka ripped and tore but did not swallow. Instead, they spat out the flesh on the wooden deck, snarling at the rotten taste.

Your breathing was even as the rusalka slowly let you have control back, blood coating the back of your mouth and sliding down your throat. Still crouched over the twitching body of the second guard, you jolted when you felt a hand on your shoulder. You swung, claws extended. Nightwing caught your wrist before you could slice him open, face stoic despite the carnage before him.

“This,” he said, voice cold, “is overkill.”

“I did not come here to get lectured by a fucking vigilante,” you hissed back. You tugged, trying to break his grip, but he held on tighter. Your lips peeled back from your teeth in a feral snarl. “Let me go.”

“No more death,” he said. His grip was near bruising now. “Control yourself, Koshka.”

The rusalka slipped in, their words slipping from your tongue. “You will take your hand from us, or you will lose it, black bird.”

Ah. Was this the black bird that they had been telling you about? Some holier-than-thou vigilante with a stick up his ass and a lecture always prepared? That, honestly, seemed to be in line with your shit luck as of late. The rusalka hissed, a chorus of anger and hatred that burned your chest and throat. But the vigilante did not recoil in fear. He didn’t even flinch. Instead, he wrenched you away from the body, hands pinning your wrists above your head.

_Bruising grip on your wrists, warm breath that reeked of cheap vodka, hot tears slipping down your cheeks—_

“No!” you screamed. Your eyes widened, panic flooding your chest. “Let go of me!”

Startled by the violent reaction from you, the vigilante let go, shock written on his face. You scrambled away, chest heaving as you struggled to take deep, even breaths.

 _Little one, what has happened to you?_ The rusalka asked, voice dark.

You did not answer. You were still trying to beat back the sudden rush of old nightmares, tears pricking hot behind your eyes. At the back of your mind, you knew that your scream could have attracted more guards, could have alerted the person you were hunting. But most of you was still shaking, trying to find some self-control. All these years, yet you were still so weak.

“Koshka,” the vigilante said, “are you--?”

“Don’t you _fucking_ touch me,” you snarled, more venom in your tone than the rusalka. You struggled to calm your breathing, fingers rubbing at your wrists. “I didn’t come here to get lectured by some asshole in spandex. And don’t you dare look at me like that, either.”

Even though his eyes were covered by a domino mask, you knew the look on his face. You had seen it far too many times. Pity made you sick. Pity made you tired, pity made you angry. You were so fucking tired of it. The vigilante started to reach for you, then thought better of it, hand clenching into a fist at his side.

“You’re bleeding,” he said.

The sound of running footsteps cut off your answer, muscles tensing as you waited for reinforcements to arrive. You shot a glare at Nightwing, taking two steps away from him.

“Unless you want to keep barking at me about morals, I suggest you get out of here,” you hissed. The water was calling to you, the rusalka begging to return to its embrace. “If you don’t like it, then stay out of it.”

Before he could answer, you ran to the edge of the dock and dove into the water. The cold was a shock to your system at first, bones aching at the sudden temperature change. Your skin prickled and you opened your eyes, stomach clenching as you watched scales pierce through your skin, glowing in the moonlight. The webbing on your hands thickened as well, your fingers spreading farther apart when you flexed them than they should have. Instinct kicked in and you swam to the surface, scanning the dock as you gasped for breath. Four men were surveying the bodies you had left. There was a flash of blue at the corner of your eye, but by the time you’d turned to look, the vigilante had disappeared.

 _Good riddance,_ you thought.

 _We should return before the detective notices we are absent,_ the rusalka said. _Swim swiftly, little one._

Diving back under the surface, you followed their advice and swam back towards the beach. You had tucked away a change of clothes, so you only had to hope that Grayson wouldn’t notice your little midnight adventure.

\---

Of course, you should have known that luck would never take your side. When you crawled back in the guest room window, Dick Grayson was waiting for you, sitting on the bed with a scowl. His hair looked damp, and you wondered if he’d gotten up to take a shower and noticed your absence.

“Care to tell me where you ran off to?” he asked, jaw clenched.

You hesitated for a moment, hands shoved into the pockets of your hoodie in hopes that he wouldn’t see the webbing that was slowly sinking back into your skin.

“Just… wanted to go for a swim,” you said. It was not at all convincing.

“You shoulder is bleeding,” he pointed out. You winced, gaze dropping to your bare feet. “Want to try again?”

You bit your lip and stayed silent. The detective stood and approached you, eyes narrowed. Your breath caught in your throat, muscles locked despite your instinct to back away from him. He let out a soft sigh, reaching up and tugging at the collar of your hoodie.

“Take it off,” he said, voice clipped.

“I…what?” The flush rose to your face unbidden, eyes wide.

“Take the hoodie off so I can treat your wound, Koshka.” His voice was softer this time, although his eyes were still hard, brow furrowed. “Can you lift that arm?”

Horrifically embarrassed by where your mind had wandered off to, you cleared your throat and slowly removed your hands from your pockets. Thankfully, the webbing had disappeared. Moving slowly, you slipped your arms from the sleeves and pulled off the hoodie. Sharp pain throbbed through your shoulder, adrenaline finally beginning to wear off. You let it drop heavily to the floor, arms hanging heavy at your sides. Blood had seeped through the sleeve of your white shirt, dripping down towards your fingers in lazy, uneven trails.

 _Why isn’t this healing like that cut on my hand?_ You asked the rusalka, jaw clenching.

 _There is only so much that we can do for your body,_ they answered. _And this is a scar that we must carry, we think. We are limited by this human body, sweet one._

Shit. You’d hoped that the wound would heal by the time you got back, or even by the time the sun rose. It seemed that all your plans to keep this from the detective were falling apart. He stepped closer, making you suddenly very aware of how small you were and how large he was. You swallowed a lump in your throat as he pulled the loose collar of the shirt down, down over your arm, revealing the deep gash in the hollow where your shoulder met your clavicle. Cold night air brushed over the exposed skin, made you shiver. Grayson hesitated for a moment, a sadness in his eyes for a fleeting moment before the hard anger took over again.

“It’s deep,” he said, voice dropping an octave. When you shivered again, it was not from the cold air. “What the hell did you do?”

You did not answer.

“My job is to keep you alive, Koshka.” He sighed again, shaking his head. “I can’t do that if you run off to god knows where and come back bleeding. You do know that you could get killed, right?”

“I am aware,” you murmured.

“And if you get killed, who’s supposed to chase down the story? Me? I’m just a cop.” Warm fingers cradling your jaw, he tipped your face up to look at him. “Don’t shut me out. Let me in. Let me help you.”

A trembling sigh slipped past your lips before you could stop it. His hand was warm, large, palm calloused against your cold skin. The rusalka purred, a bolt of hot pleasure arcing under your skin and surprising you. If you just tipped your head up a little further, you could—

No. You shoved the image from your head, pushed it away with violent rejection. Teeth sinking into your lip, you looked away. In that split second, you had been able to count each of the freckles on his tan skin, could see a small scar on his lips. You focused on the pain radiating from your shoulder, distracted yourself from his warm touch.

After another moment of silence, his fingers slid from your face, down your neck, to rest just beside the wound. When he sighed, you felt his warm breath fan across your cheek. He smelled like the sea, like home. You closed your eyes as he took a step back, warm touch sliding away and the cold returning to your bones. It took a monumental amount of effort to keep yourself from leaning back into him.

“Come on,” he said, so soft. Like the moment would shatter if he raised his voice. “I’ve got a first aid kit in the bathroom. That looks like it needs stitches.”

He turned, did not look back as he walked out of the room. After a moment of hesitation, you followed him, good arm curling around your stomach as if the butterflies in it were about to burst out. The puppy stayed asleep when you passed her, feet twitching as she dreamed. Grayson held the door open for you, waited as you stepped past him and paused.

“Sit up on the counter,” he instructed, “next to the sink.”

Without hesitation, you obeyed. The rusalka growled, but you ignored them. The blood dripping to the floor was making you feel weak, fingertips cold as they clutched at the marble counter. Grayson crouched down, opened the cabinet under the sink and took out a large, dark leather kit. Silence hung in the air as he opened it next to you, one corner of it resting against your hip. You watched as he soaked a clean rag in rubbing alcohol, took your hand, and gently began to clean the blood from your skin. When you shuddered, he paused, looked up at you to gauge your reaction. After a moment, he continued, slowly working his way up to your shoulder. At the first touch of the rag against the wound, you hissed in pain and flinched, baring your teeth.

“Sorry,” he said, pulling back. “The pain is going to get worse.”

“I know,” you whispered. “It’s okay.”

Another moment of hesitation passed. Then he continued, the rag’s motions over the wound heartbreakingly gentle. You let your head tip back, eyes squeezed shut and teeth sinking into your lip. You would not scream. Time stretched as the pain wore at you, set every nerve in your body on edge. Finally, finally, he pulled back. You let out a shaking breath, opening your eyes as he tossed the bloody rag into the sink. Grayson glanced up at you, something like sympathy replacing the hard anger in his eyes.

“I’ve found, at least for me, that talking can help distract from the pain,” he said.

“I’m not sure what to talk about,” you answered. You watched as he took out a needle and thread, dipping the sharp metal into rubbing alcohol briefly before his eyes met yours.

“We can talk about anything,” he said. “You can ask me questions, if you want. Think of it as an interview.”

You hummed, rolling your neck and gazing at the bottle of hand soap next to the tap. Lavender and lemon scented. Clearly something that he had not chosen for himself.

“Were you ever going to tell me that your adopted father is Bruce Wayne?” you asked.

He paused, thread almost through the eye of the curved needle. When he laughed, there was no humor to it, only pure exhaustion. He resumed his task with a slump to his shoulders.

“Honestly? Probably never. I knew you would find out for yourself eventually,” he answered.

“Why didn’t you want to tell me?” you asked.

“People treat me differently after they know,” he said.

“I’m insulted that you think I would hate your guts to any other degree,” you hissed, wincing as he slid the needle into your skin.

He laughed, a little more genuine this time. “Good point. I already had all of the negative points possible for being a cop and your unwanted babysitter.”

“Why are you here, instead of in Gotham?” you asked. The words were failing so far at keeping you distracted from the pull of the thread through your flesh. “Shouldn’t you be living in the lap of luxury and working at Wayne Enterprises?”

“That would be the easy move,” he said. His eyes flicked up to your face for a split second before he focused on the stitches again. “Bruce hasn’t given up on trying to get me to move back. He’s already got a cushy position all lined up for me. But I can’t make a difference by sitting bored in a fancy office all day long, waiting for my next golf session.”

“Money changes the world,” you pointed out. “On a far greater scale than working for a crooked police force.”

“I’m not interested in making differences on a large scale.” He snorted, preparing the next stitch. “I want to do it on a personal level. If you only throw money at problems, you keep your distance. That makes it impersonal. You can’t truly understand what people are going through unless you see it face to face. Besides, honest cops are needed more in crooked forces than in clean ones.”

“That implies that a clean police force exists.” You sucked in a gasp as the needle slid back in again.

“One thing that you should learn about me, Koshka, is that I am an unrepentant optimist. It makes the days easier to get through when you look on the bright side.” He continued with each stitch, hands gentle and eyes focused.

“Oh, you’re an optimist too? You truly are an exhausting person, detective.”

Another distracted chuckle. “I don’t know, most people think I’m a delight. You’re just too focused on the shadows, Koshka. The dark side of things. It wouldn’t hurt to step out into the light every once in a while.”

“Mm,” you grunted. You were unconvinced.

“You remind me of someone I know,” he said. “He has trouble with it, too. But he has people like me around to keep him from straying too far into the dark.”

“I do just fine,” you hissed.

“I’m lecturing again, aren’t I?” he sighed. “Sorry. Bad habit.”

A puzzle piece slid into place in your head. The rusalka let out a throaty chuckle. But you said nothing.

“Do you miss Gotham?” you asked instead.

“Sometimes,” he said, “and only some parts of it. I miss some of the people there.”

“Like Barbara Gordon?” you asked.

Grayson paused with the needle half in your skin, surprise written on his face. “Wow,” he said, “you really do have your sources, huh?”

You remained quiet and waited for him to answer the question.

“I miss Babs, but not like that,” he said. “We agreed that we work better as friends. And before you ask, no, there’s no one in Gotham that I miss like that.”

 _Interesting,_ the rusalka purred. _You can find some pleasures of the flesh with him, then._

 _Absolutely not,_ you hissed back. _I don’t fuck cops. Not in that way, at least._

 _Oh, but you know that he is not just a cop either,_ they whispered.

“You must have some questions for me as well,” you said as he prepared for the final stitch.

“Oh, I have a lot. You’re a fascinating person, Koshka. Difficult, but fascinating.” He paused. “Do you ever think about going back to Ukraine?”

You paused, mulling over the question. No one had really asked you that. But, truthfully, you’d never let anyone close enough to you to wonder.

“Sometimes,” you finally answered. You winced as he pulled in the final stitch, tying off the thread and picking up a pair of scissors to cut it. “There are days when I miss it terribly. I miss speaking my mother tongue. I miss the street vendors. I miss the way the ocean smelled. I miss the parades and the food and the route that I would take getting home from school. But I outgrew it. Odesa stopped being home when my parents died.”

“Is that why you left?” he asked. “To escape the memories?”

“No,” you said. It felt strange, the way the truth rolled off your tongue with ease. “Well, not entirely. I had a better opportunity coming to America for university, so I did. And once I was here, it just felt like staying was the right decision. I have nothing waiting for me in Ukraine. But I can have the freedom to show the truth behind the shadows here.”

“They could use a reporter like you there,” he said. He pulled out gauze and tape from the kit, touch still gentle as he bandaged the closed wound. “Someone with a passion for the truth.”

“Perhaps,” you said. “But there are already reporters like me there, who want to share the truth. I am selfish in that I prefer the relative safety afforded to me here.”

“No,” he said, “I think you’re just what this city needs right now.”

Taking a deep breath, you tilted your head and smirked at him. His fingers were still lingering against your shoulder, eyes hooded as they met your own.

“You’re handsome, Grayson,” you purred, “but flattery won’t get you anywhere with me.”

Color bloomed across his cheeks and up his neck, his eyes widening. You took no small amount of pleasure from his reaction as he stepped back, spluttering. Either he wasn’t very good at taking what he dealt, or you had a much larger amount of power over Dick Grayson than you had previously realized. Clearing his throat, he deftly put up the supplies in his first aid kit and chucked it under the sink with an uncharacteristic lack of grace and finesse.

“I… w-well, you should get some rest,” he choked out, freckles standing out on his flushed cheeks. “We’ll talk more about this and a plan of action in the morning.”

Before you could properly respond, Dick Grayson was out the door and down the hall. You chuckled, bracing yourself for a moment as a wave of dizziness crashed over you when you stood up. Pain still radiated from your arm and shoulder, keeping it hanging useless at your side. You would have to rethink your approach to the Blockbuster situation. But, you had to admit, you had definitely done a good job of getting his attention. Having killed two of his guards and having Nightwing spotted with you would definitely pique his interest. Once he was dealt with, you could move on to the Ukrainians and Tiger Shark.

Slowly making your way down the hall back to the guest room, you pulled out all of the files you had received and powered up your laptop. The story could not wait, but sleep could be put off for a few more hours.

And, you reasoned, Dick Grayson could admit to you that he was Nightwing on his own time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was not lying to y'all when i said i would have the new chapter up soon!! i got a sudden burst of inspiration from a few songs and some movies and just had to get this out. hopefully the next few chapters will be the same way.
> 
> thank you as always for reading!! i love you all, please stay safe and healthy!!


	8. Salt and the Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: explicit violence, forced drugging, violence against a shark, implied drug overdose 
> 
> _i'll let the darkness swallow me whole  
>  i need to find you, need you to know_

Ten days after you had thinned out Blockbuster’s employees, there had yet to be any movement on his end. You’d monitored the local news, taking breaks from your own reporting to obsessively try to find anything that indicated you’d captured his interest. When you weren’t holed up in the guest room you were lounging in the tub, unsure how to feel about the scales that were slowly beginning to take up permanent residence on your skin. The ring of gold around your pupils grew larger every day, nails more like claws and jaw aching with the second set of teeth that had grown. And after those ten days, the hunger had grown to a near breaking point.

 _We must feed,_ the rusalka whispered. _Sweet thing, this body grows weak._

 _Just wait,_ you murmured back. You could feel the hunger gnawing at you, the energy that drained with each breath you took. _We can feed soon. Just wait._

But worst of all had been Grayson. Since you had come home injured, he had become terribly overbearing. When you were working on your story, he insisted on helping you scan through files. In the mornings, he brought you coffee and tried to force food on you. In the afternoon, he brought you more coffee and made another attempt to get you to eat. In the evening, he offered you wine and tried one last time to get you to accept food. It was like clockwork, his smile never fading. Frankly, it made you want to kill him. You didn’t, stuffed all the rage back in, turned it inwards. On some level, you knew that he was only looking out for you. Trying to keep you healthy, happy.

Quite frankly, you knew that it had been and would be a very long time before you would ever be either of those things.

The detective also had yet to admit to you what he did at night. You had not hinted that you knew his other identity. You had not confronted him when he left in the middle of the night. But you had still hoped that some part of him would feel compelled to tell the truth.

You were not used to being proven wrong. Yet Dick Grayson seemed determined to completely subvert your expectations at every turn. When you thought he would be honest, he hid the truth. When you thought he would lie, he was painfully honest. When he had every reason to fear and hate you, to look at you and see a monster, he instead treated you with kindness and patience that you did not deserve.

 _We told you to trust the black bird,_ the rusalka said. _We know that he will keep you safe. Have faith. Have patience._

 _You should know by now that I don’t have any faith or patience with any living person,_ you pointed out.

_Perhaps, but you can learn._

The rusalka, that cold presence in your bones and beautiful voice in your head, had become softer with you. More patient, no longer likely to scream at you or rip control from you. Perhaps a little bit of your humanity had bled into them, and in turn, a bit of their monstrosity had bled into you. Your already paper thin patience had become thinner and thinner with each passing day. You were a ticking time bomb, waiting to explode.

In the early hours of the eleventh day, everything finally ground into motion.

You had not yet gone to sleep, still lounging in the tub. The water had long since gone cold, but you did not mind. The water was home, the water was comfort. Grayson had slipped out just a few hours before. You’d started wearing a swimsuit after a close call several days earlier when Grayson had nearly barged in on you after you’d drifted off in the tub. The rusalka had been teaching you old lullabies in your mother tongue, haunting little melodies that you found yourself mimicking. Eyes closed, you listened as each note echoed in the bathroom.

Then the rusalka fell silent. Your muscles tensed and you pushed yourself up into a sitting position. When you realized the dog was silent, you knew something was wrong.

 _Rusalka?_ You asked, fingers curling around the edge of the tub.

 _We believe something is wrong,_ they answered. You felt that cold touch pushing and pulling inside of you, muffled a whimper as your sharper teeth slid into place. One of them punctured your lip and you wiped at the small trickle of blood that ran from it. There was a small sound just outside the door and your grip tightened on the porcelain when the rusalka began to scream.

Scrambling out of the tub, you slipped on the tile as you ran on wet, bare feet to the window. Just as you had begun to pry it open, wincing at the continuing scream in your head that echoed down to your nerves, the door exploded open. You spun around, freezing at the sight of a man at least twice your size standing in the doorway. A black mask was pulled up to cover the lower half of his face and a hood pulled low to cover the upper half. The black leather of his gloves creaked as they curled into fists.

**_RUN!_ **

You shook yourself from the fear that had locked your limbs and turned back to the window, trying your best to pull yourself through it as quickly as possible. But before you could even get the rest of the upper half of your body outside hands clamped around your ankles and dragged you back inside. You screamed and tried to dig your nails into the wall, the floor, anything that would allow you some resistance. But he was stronger, and your head bounced hard off the tile when you fell back inside, thoughts going fuzzy. Movements sluggish, you tried to kick at him, desperate to land any kind of blow. When your foot connected with his face, however, it didn’t seem to have much of an effect. Senses slowly returning to normal as you recovered from the blow to your head, you hissed and swiped at one of the hands on your ankles. Blood blossomed, leaked from under the glove, but he did not let go.

Instead, the blow pissed him off. Snarl rumbling low in his chest, he yanked hard, your body sliding across the wet floor until he could get a hand around your throat. Panic bubbling in your chest, you clawed at his hand, gasping as his grip began to tighten. Your vision began to darken at the edges even as you ripped and tore at his arm and chest and wrist. Gasping for breath, you kicked and flailed until his other hand pried your mouth open. Knees pressing down on your hip, your leg, he leaned his whole weight in as he shoved something in your mouth. Both hands came to cover your mouth and chin, pinch your nose until you finally swallowed.

The world faded, blurred around the edges. Even the rusalka’s voice became muted, an itch in the back of your mind. Just as you plunged into the cold waters of unconsciousness, you heard Grayson burst in and scream your name.

 _Shit_ , you thought. And then you were out.

\---

Of course, you had known that someone would eventually come for you. It was inevitable. Whether Grayson was there to puff out his chest and play guard dog or you were alone, someone was bound to find you. If they’d found you at your house, they would find you at the detective’s. Not only that, but with some of the police in on whatever the gangs were doing, there was no way someone wouldn’t try something. You had expected it to take less time, thought you would be higher up on their list of priorities. But that had probably just been your ego talking.

Having the detective barge in, however, made things more difficult. If he was off somewhere else when you were taken, you wouldn’t have to worry about his moral handwringing and holier-than-thou lectures. But with him present, you would have to tread lightly.

You came to bound to a chair, mouth dry and head pounding. The rusalka was silent, the sudden loneliness that washed over you terribly unsettling. Your limbs were heavy and it felt like a feat of strength just to open your eyes. The room was blessedly dark, no bright lights to make your headache worse. A soft whimper fell from your lips before you could swallow it, your head rolling back on your neck as you tried to make the world stop spinning.

“Good to see our other guest is finally awake,” a deep, snarling voice said.

Roland Desmond was oppressively large, even when seated. It took several moments for you to finally narrow your gaze on where he sat in front of you. The shadows cast monstrous features on his face, turned him into something from your nightmares. Despite everything you had been through, you could not beat down the fear that rose in you. It must have shown in your eyes because the man chuckled, stood from his desk and slowly moved around it.

“I apologize, this form can be a bit… hard to have a conversation with.” Before your eyes, Blockbuster began to change. Two slow blinks later, a normal man stood where the monster had been. His eyes, however, were just as cold as he appraised you. “Is this better, Miss Koshka?”

You would have responded, but your jaw felt like it was wired shut. You didn’t know what they had forced you to ingest, but your entire body ached. Closing your eyes again, you whimpered and curled your fingers into the arm rests on your chair.

“What do you want, Desmond?” you faintly heard.

Oh, Grayson. A cold sweat had broken out on your forehead, but you managed to turn your head towards his voice and crack open one eye. He was also bound to a chair, although not as tightly as you had been. You could faintly see a bruise darkening his jaw and blood blooming on his shirt. _Foolish man,_ you thought, mind still sluggish. _Should have stayed quiet and let them take me._

“It’s not so much a matter of what I want, detective,” Blockbuster answered. “Your little ward here came into my territory and ate the face of one of my guards before running off. Not to mention she also tore one of my best contractors to shreds. I’m more interested in what she wants from me. And, of course, there are other interested parties.”

Your stomach twisted into knots and you groaned in pain, head falling forward. Your thoughts were still your own, an empty space where they had once been shared.

 _Please,_ you thought, desperate. _Please, come back. I need you._

The only answer was silence.

“You drugged her, didn’t you?” Grayson snapped, more anger and hatred in his voice than you thought possible.

“Of course I did,” Blockbuster said. “The girl ate two of my people. Did you really think I would risk the same thing happening to me? She’ll sweat it out… maybe.”

“Wh…” your voice was weak when you first tried to speak, barely audible. You had to gather every ounce of your strength to even get it up to a whisper. “Why did one of your men come after me? I… I was only after… the Ukrainians.”

“Ah, she speaks!” When you felt his fingers on your jaw, you could only glare up at him, breath coming in heaving gasps. “Not looking so hot. Maybe the dosage of rohypnol was a bit too much.”

Great. A gangster had roofied you. But you could at least be thankful that you were still clinging to memories of your abduction, that your thoughts were clear enough to understand just how dire the situation was. Even if the rusalka was silent, you were thankful that you weren’t completely out of it.

“You… haven’t answered my… m-my question,” you panted.

“Well, I’m surprised you didn’t figure it out yourself.” He sighed, releasing your jaw and taking a step back. “Your brother seemed so convinced that you would put the whole puzzle together.”

Your brother. A shiver ran down your spine. You knew, of course, that you would eventually get to him. But having the connection so close was a surprise. You shuddered, unable to stop the violent trembling of your body.

“The short answer is that anything that happens in this city goes through me, and what you’re attempting to disrupt has the potential to give me some very valuable assets,” he continued. “The long answer is that when you pissed off the Ukrainians, you also pissed off Tiger Shark and put a very fragile deal in real jeopardy. So, your brother and his people got in touch with me to make sure that you were permanently out of the picture and the deal could go through. However, you suddenly seem to be very immune to dying.”

You tried to answer. But instead of speaking, you bent forward and vomited. The trembling got worse, your body convulsing until your stomach was hollow and empty. Black ichor and dark blood pooled at your feet, reeking of acid and iron. It was getting harder to breathe and your throat felt burned raw.

Faintly, through the pain and the ringing in your ears, you began to piece everything together. Blockbuster stood at the top of the underworld food chain; if you wanted to smuggle anything into the harbor, you had to clear it through him. The Ukrainians were trying to make Blüdhaven one of their primary operation centers in America and needed a new kind of weapon to claw their way to the top of the food chain. And Tiger Shark wanted to move in on the territory as well, but was attempting to do so peacefully by offering up human weapons to the two other parties. You managed to feel even sicker. How many of these people that they were trafficking were children? How many had their minds, their agency stripped from them to become obedient killing machines?

“Roland,” you heard Grayson say, desperation in his voice. “There’s something you want from her. Just spit it out.”

“It’s only fair, isn’t it? I gave her the answer she wanted, so now I get something from her.” Desmond grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked, grinning when you let out a pained moan. “See, if I don’t make a statement when a determined little journalist and her pet vigilante fuck with me, it sends the wrong kind of message. Mercy isn’t really my thing.”

Desperately trying to focus on his face, you snarled up at Blockbuster and spat at his feet.

“Oh,” he said, “cute. But Nightwing hasn’t shown up for you. How’s that make you feel? Being abandoned by the little pest, it make you angry? Sad? Desolate?”

Oh, the irony. Nightwing was tied up right next to you, struggling against the ropes. You hoped that he had a plan of some kind. Because at the current moment, hobbled by hunger and drugged to the gills, you were in no position to fight back.

“Oh don’t worry, detective, I’ll get to you too,” Blockbuster said. You felt his fingers grow, palm large enough to envelop your entire head. His voice deepened, rumbled like thunder. “We had one of our guys lined up to take the job of guarding this one, but you jumped in and volunteered instead. All of this could have been taken care of days ago, no mess, no fuss. But you had to make this even messier than it already was.”

Holding you by the back of the neck, he dragged you, chair and all, towards the back of the room. You couldn’t even struggle. Grayson was yelling, your brain struggling to focus on the words while pain bloomed where Blockbuster’s fingers gripped your neck. When he finally stopped, he used his tight grip to force your head up until you were looking at an aquarium.

“Tiger Shark was the one who installed this here. I usually prefer to deal with problems myself, but we agreed that sometimes we can have a little fun. Most of the time sharks are pretty calm, but if they smell blood in the water, well…” He chuckled. “They won’t eat you, of course. But you won’t be getting out of there unscathed.”

Could you even breathe in that aquarium? With the rusalka still not responding, you weren’t sure if your gills would grow once you were thrown in. If you were at full strength, you wouldn’t be worried. With the strength of an ancient water creature, a shark was no problem. But you were just you, small and human and weak. You sucked in a deep breath when Blockbuster released your throat, head rolling back to stare up at him. His grin only grew, wicked and crooked, as one of his men stepped into the room. You continued to stare up at him as the other man produced a switchblade, cutting through your bonds. Then you felt a sharp pain and looked down to see him carving a deep gash from your wrist all the way to the crook of your elbow. Blood spilled from it, dripped to the floor. There was a mechanized sound and Blockbuster lifted you as if you were just a rag doll. Then, Grayson’s scream echoing in the room, he tossed you over his head and into the water.

Despite the knowledge that you would likely die, you felt some small comfort in the water. It was temperature controlled, felt less like home and more like some bad attempt at copying it, but it cradled you all the same. You watched your blood rise through it in beautiful patterns, dark red lace and beautiful crimson clouds. Then the first shadow moved towards you. Blood loss was beginning to set in, adding another layer of haze to your slow-moving brain. You watched as a massive shark approached, quietly accepting your fate.

 _Fight, sweet thing,_ a melodic voice echoed. It was far away, small in its presence, but it was there. You could have wept hearing the rusalka, relief flooding you even as death approached. _We cannot help you. But you must fight._

A small amount of strength surged in you and as the shark closed in, jaws opening, you moved. Kicking out of the way, you reached out and wrapped your arms around the massive creature before opening your mouth as wide as you could and biting into its belly. You felt the shark thrash wildly, trying to dislodge you, but you managed to take two giant bites out of it before your grip failed. You swallowed, flesh and blood and thick skin sliding down you throat. But just that small amount was enough. More strength surged and you kicked your way towards the surface, fingers curling around the edges of the opening. The shark did not pursue you, moving back towards the shadows of the enclosure as blood swirled in the water. With one last surge, you hauled yourself out of the aquarium, tumbling down to the floor and landing heavily on your shoulder. You cried out when you felt something snap, going limp on the ground.

Chaos had erupted in the room. Grayson had managed to free himself while you were in the water, the man who had cut you lying unconscious a few feet away. Blockbuster threw the detective across the room as you watched, but he twisted in the air, landing on all fours and skidding on the slick linoleum. Grayson glanced at you, breathing heavily and blood trickling from a gash on his lower lip. Moving his focus to you, he urged your good arm to wrap around his neck, one of his arms tucking under your thighs so that you were pressed against his side, your legs coming to hook around his waist. Blockbuster roared, blood leaking from his nose and bruises blooming on his face. He charged and you reflexively held onto Grayson tighter.

“Do you trust me?” he asked, already sprinting towards the window. It had shattered at some point during the fight, night breeze blowing through.

You hesitated for a moment before tucking your head into his shoulder.

“Yes,” you rasped. “I… trust you.”

With a victorious whoop, Grayson pulled something from his belt and jumped out the window. You screamed as the both of you fell a short distance. Then there was a soft mechanical sound and you were no longer falling. Instead, Grayson swung you away from the building. Your stomach lurched at the weightless feeling and you squeezed your eyes shut to keep from looking down. After several terrifying minutes, you finally felt Grayson land with a grunt, skidding to a halt on an abandoned roof top. You continued to cling to him, breathing heavily and fighting back tears.

“Hey,” he said, voice soft. “Hey, you’re okay. I’ve got you. I need you to let go so I can look you over, okay?”

You wanted to snap at him that you weren’t a frightened child who needed to be soothed. But you were too tired, too sick. So, just this once, you obeyed him and let go. Grayson lowered you gently to the ground, propping your back up against a wall. His hands were gentle as he took your injured arm, inspecting the cut. After letting out a heavy sigh, he tugged off his shirt. You looked away, heat rushing unbidden to your cheeks. Ripping the garment into uneven strips, he tied several of them tightly around the wound to staunch the bleeding, then made a sling out of the remaining pieces to keep your injured arm and shoulder cradled to your chest and immovable.

“I need you to look at me, okay?” he asked, still gentle. You wanted to punch him. Instead, you rolled your head back over, eyes unfocused. He held up a hand and you tried to focus on it instead of his lean, muscled torso. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

After a brief pause, you narrowed your eyes until you could see somewhat clearly. “Three,” you rasped.

“Okay, good. You’re doing so good,” he said. His hands cupped your cheeks, warm and calloused. Despite yourself, you let out a pleased sigh at the contact. You felt so, so cold. “Now, I need you to stay awake for me. I don’t know how heavily they drugged you and you’ve lost some blood. It’s very, very important that you don’t fall asleep.”

“Okay,” you murmured. You pressed closer to his touch, chasing the warmth. He let out a stuttering breath, a thumb brushing over your cheekbone. “Okay.”

“Thank you,” he said, a bit breathless. “I’m gonna keep talking, so you just listen and stay awake. I know someone who can take care of you discreetly. Are you okay with me taking you to her?”

“Yes,” you said. It was getting harder to stay awake, so you focused on his hands, the reflection of the stars in his eyes.

“You’re doing so, so good.” Grayson guided your good arm around his shoulders again, lifted you carefully into his arms. “Keep those pretty eyes open for me, yeah? We’ll be there before you know it.”

Ah, you thought. Here he was, going with flattery to try to keep your attention. Your face twisted into a frown, but you managed to keep your eyes half-open, lids heavy. His skin was warm where it met yours, his breathing even as he shifted your weight to one arm and used his grappling hook to help lower both of you to the ground. Water dripped from your hair and skin onto his, the patches of scales that had grown on your skin glinting where the streetlights met them. Grayson bundled you closer to him before he took off, sticking to the shadows. Exhausted, you let your head rest on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. He stuck to the shadows, pausing often to glance down and ensure that you were still awake. As he travelled closer to the Spine, you let your fingers curl against the nape of his neck and spoke in a hoarse whisper.

“Blockbuster was wrong,” you said.

“Hm?” He paused at a corner, turning his attention to you. “About what?”

“Nightwing was there to save me,” you whispered.

The realization came to him in stages. At first Grayson simply looked confused. Then the full weight of your words hit him, and you watched the confusion morph into surprise, then concern. Finally, he let out a small chuckle, concern melting into grim amusement.

“Of course you already had that figured out,” he said. With a small sigh, he took off down an alley. “Yet another reason to hate me, huh?”

You made a non-committal sound, catching yourself before your eyes slid shut and shaking your head to remain awake. It was becoming harder, the tips of your fingers going cold and numb. You’d stopped feeling your toes several minutes before. You could feel his muscles flex under your cheek, beneath your palm as he readjusted his grip on you. Maybe you should have hated him more with the realization.

But, at that moment, drugged out of your mind, concussed, and bleeding out, you thought that maybe that hatred had morphed into something different.

“Maybe,” you said instead. “You are infuriating.”

“There’s a lot of ways to take that,” he pointed out, laughter in his voice.

“You’re also… very warm. Comfortable.” The words left before you could stop them. Some part of you knew that you would hate yourself later for saying so. Although you could always blame it on the drugs.

“Thanks, Koshka.” His voice had gone soft and gooey and sweet again, like hot fudge. “You’re doing great. Keep talking to me, okay?”

“Where are you taking me?” you asked, letting your head tip back so that you could stare up at the sky, the first dredges of dawn bleeding in.

“A doctor I’ve gone to before,” he answered. “I pay her monthly so that she stays quiet. She should be able to take care of you and she won’t tell anyone about… uh.”

“About what I’m becoming,” you murmured. “It’s okay to call me a monster, Grayson.”

“You aren’t a monster,” he said, an edge to his voice. “You’re just… changing, that’s all. Is the thing still in your head? Has it been talking to you?”

“No.” Your eyes burned, tears threatening to spill. But you refused. You would not cry in front of this man again. He could not keep seeing you being so weak. “They’re quiet. It feels lonely inside of me.”

Grayson hummed, his chest rumbling against your cheek. It was oddly soothing, making it easier for you to collect yourself once more. The exhaustion was nearly impossible to beat back now, even when you focused on counting your own heartbeats, each one feeling more sluggish. He stopped in front of a rundown building, kicking at the door until it finally opened.

A middle aged woman with grey-streaked blond hair stepped out, fury written plain on her face. Her face was all hard angles, eyes dark and heavy lidded as she looked over the two of you.

“Doctor Svoboda—” Grayson started.

She held up a hand, her heavy gaze settling on you. “Did you drag a mermaid out of the bay?” she asked. Her voice was deep, had the kind of rasp that indicated she likely smoked at least a pack a day.

“It’s… it’s a long story. She’s mostly human, doesn’t matter what else is in there. Look, she’s got a bad wound on her arm, a likely concussion, and she’s pumped full of rohypnol. I need you to do what you can,” he said.

“Hm.” The doctor grunted, then finally stepped out of the doorway. “Bring her in. I’ll set up a standard overdose treatment and stitch up wounds as needed. I can’t monitor her for the entire time required, so you’ll need to take her somewhere else and finish the monitoring.”

Grayson stepped inside and you hissed, nose wrinkling at the sudden sensory bombardment. It reeked of chemicals and blood, glaring lights on in both the entry hall and the barren examination room the doctor lead him into. As gently as he could, Grayson laid you down on a cold metal table, his hand lingering on the back of your neck before he took a step back. Without his body heat, you felt cold, shivers setting in before Svoboda threw a blanket over you and got to work. She forced some foul, thick concoction down your throat, then cut free the blood-crusted strips of cloth to get to your arm. While she barked at Grayson to fetch a bag of O negative from the cooler, she set to work cleaning the wound, which was much worse than you had thought. It was deep enough that you could see the muscle and tendons beneath, blood still pumping lazily from the split flesh. When she began to stitch, you looked away, focusing your eyes on the ceiling.

Once a blood transfusion had been set up on your other arm, the doctor gently bandaged the stitched wound, put a cold compress on your rapidly bruising shoulder, and placed a cold hand on your forehead.

“You can sleep now,” she said, voice low. “Get some rest. You’ll need it.”

Before you finally gave in to the exhaustion, you felt a large, warm hand take your own. As you plunged into sleep, you let your fingers curl around Grayson’s.

\---

In your dreams, a large black bird folded you inside of its wings and a melodic voice sang songs to you in an old, forgotten tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay, another chapter done! i took a day off since yesterday was my birthday, but have been plugging away at this otherwise to try to make that fight scene not terrible lmao. also yes, i did make elise svoboda a back alley doctor in this. canon is my sandbox and i do as i please. i also recommend that you listen to Salt and the Sea by The Lumineers (hence the chapter title) while reading this. (and don't worry, the rusalka is definitely coming back)
> 
> thank you again for reading!! as always, i love you all. stay healthy and stay safe!!


	9. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _no more trauma_

“What have you gotten this poor girl into, Grayson?”

“Nothing! This… all of this is important to her, okay? She chose to follow through, and I just want to be there to try to keep her safe.”

“You’re an idiot. Do you really think that someone without any powers can—”

“I can try, okay? She… she doesn’t have anyone else, doctor. It’s the least I can do.”

“Is this just because you’re getting paid to be her watch dog? Or have you let this get personal, Grayson?”

“I… I don’t know, Elise. I don’t know.”

\---

“Hey Babs, it’s me.”

…

“No, I’m good. Just a little over my head with a few things.”

…

“Yeah, that’s why—”

…

“No, I know that—”

…

“… Look, I just need a little help, okay? There’s this girl, and she—”

…

“Babs, will you please just let me—”

…

“She needs a place to stay, okay? Her place was compromised and mine was too. I can’t take her back to my house and I don’t want to make her stay in the warehouse. All I’m asking is for one safehouse that I can keep her in, okay? She’s doing good work.”

…

“Yeah. She’s the one your dad met. … I think you’d like her. She reminds me a lot of Bruce.”

…

“Thanks. I owe you, Babs. When this is all over, I’ll buy you lunch, okay.”

…

“Yeah. See you soon.”

\---

“Hey, Dick.”

“Hey, Babs.”

“Is… is that her?”

“Yeah… try to keep it down. She needs her rest.”

“God, Dick, what happened?”

“A lot. Blockbuster got her last night. Drugged her up. The doc said most people wouldn’t have… yeah.”

“She, uh… she has scales. And webbing on her fingers.”

“Long story. And no, she’s not a mermaid.”

“Got it. Here, follow me. …Bed’s right there. Careful…”

“I got it. There. She’s been pretty much out of it since the doc started treating her. I’ve been making sure she’s still okay every so often, but god…”

“Those bruises on her throat… You said she’s a journalist, right?”

“Yeah.”

“What the hell kind of story is she following to end up this injured?”

“A personal one, Babs.”

“… She’s pretty.”

“God, Babs—”

“I’m just saying. I mean, not your usual type but—”

“Babs!”

“Sorry! Look, I’m glad that you’ve found something that you care about, okay? Or someone—don’t interrupt me! But try not to get her too involved, okay? Even if she is… different now, even if she wants to. She deserves a shot at a life outside of the shadows.”

“… Thanks, Babs.”

“Anytime, Dick. You know you can call me even when you don’t need something from me, right?”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Stay safe, okay? I’ll let you know when we can do lunch.”

“Sounds good, Dick. Take care of her, okay?”

\---

“Hey, Koshka. You awake?”

…

“… I didn’t think so. That’s… that’s okay. I’m glad that you’re getting some rest. You know, you work yourself way too hard. Even harder than I do. The situation is terrible, but I’m glad to see you looking so peaceful.”

…

“You know, I’ve never seen you look relaxed before. Like, ever. We’ve been stuck together for close to two weeks and I would have sworn before this that you were incapable of being anything other than stressed. Or angry. Mostly angry, I guess. You get this little wrinkle between your eyes, this frown… It’s nice to see it smoothed out. Nice to see you just… peaceful.”

…

“God, this is stupid. Is this stupid? You’re not even going to remember any of this. Unless the other thing is listening. Oh god. This is embarrassing. I just… The doc said it was good to talk. Although maybe she just said that so I’d make myself look like an asshole talking to an unconscious woman.”

…

“You’re really infuriating, you know? I know that you think I am, but god… I feel like I’m always five steps behind you. It’s like dealing with Bruce all over again, trying to keep up with someone who never slows down. The anger level is pretty similar, too. You know… I think you and Bruce would get along. Although if you did ever meet him, I’d have to be worried about him dragging you into his world.”

…

“I wish you were awake. I wish I could actually… talk to you. Not just at you, but have a real conversation. I wish you would open up, let me in just a little bit. I want to help you, I want… I don’t know what I want. But I can’t help you, I can’t keep you safe if you don’t let me in.”

…

“You won’t remember this. But… but Babs… When you were in my arms, when I felt you curled against me, I just…”

…

“I’m sorry. I’ll do better, but you have to work with me. I hope you wake up soon, Koshka. There’s so much I want to say to you.”

\---

The rusalka was as small and weak as they had been when they first found the little one, struggling to cling onto existence. The foul thing that the attacker had forced the little one to swallow had weakened them, made it almost impossible for them to speak. Their presence in the little one had faded so fully that they were afraid they had ceased to exist. But one message, the most important one, had managed to get through. They had watched as she fought her way out, watched as the black bird carried her to safety, watched over her as she slept. They gathered what little energy they could from the flesh the little one had consumed and settled into her dreams.

As the little one slept, the rusalka watched the bird that she had dreamed up. Large, strong wings, gentle and soft as they cradled her battered body. The rusalka pondered this change, wondered if, perhaps, the little one had softened in ways she had not noticed when it came to the black bird.

The rusalka thought of a man they had once loved. A man who had dressed them in white lace and fine silks, who had betrayed them and broken their heart. They thought of cold waters, lungs bursting and fingers clutching at their fine clothing to make them one with the ocean.

Feeling the terrible, fragile pain of humanity once more, the rusalka sang to the little one in her dreams and patiently waited for her to awake to her sweet black bird.

\---

Dick Grayson was beginning to wonder if he would pace a hole right through the carpet. The safe house Barbara Gordon had set him up in was a nice little apartment just outside Burnside, fully furnished in a way that any grandmother would have approved of. Since he’d brought Koshka in, tucked her gently into bed, he’d been pacing like a caged lion. If he wasn’t babbling at her unconscious body, he was walking in aimless circles around the small space. Bedroom, hallway, bathroom, office, kitchen, living room, hallway, etc. He’d memorized the sequence of the needlepoint art on the walls.

Maybe he was going a little bit insane.

Refusing to dwell on that thought, he headed back to the bedroom. One bedroom in the safe house. Of course. He thought about calling Babs back up, asking if she’d done that on purpose. But he’d thought it best not to and instead planned on how best to handle Koshka once she woke up. Frankly, he wasn’t sure how she would react to him when she finally opened her eyes. Would she be furious? Would she remember him carrying her to the doctor? Would she even remember the whole incident with Blockbuster? With the amount of rohypnol in her system, there was a possibility that she wouldn’t remember any of that night.

Dick didn’t want to unpack the reasons why his heart hurt thinking about her forgetting any of it. Most of the night had been traumatic, terrible violence enacted on her small body. But he could still feel the press of her cheek against his chest, the way her fingers had curled against his neck. It was selfish, he knew, but he wanted her to remember those little moments of tenderness.

Koshka knew he was Nightwing but didn’t hate him for it. It had kept him afloat that night, knowing that a woman who had hated his guts in both of his identities would trust him with her life. Or maybe that had just been the drugs. Maybe she did hate his guts. Maybe that was why she had pushed herself so hard to get her stories done, holed herself up in the bathroom.

Yeah, he was driving himself a little bit insane.

With a heavy sigh, Dick sat on the edge of the bed and hesitated. Koshka had always seemed small to him, but usually carried herself with the confidence and presence of a person twice her size. Now, deep in sleep, she seemed so fragile. Dark bruises bloomed on her throat from the hands that had squeezed over it. The shoulder she had broken was carefully set, her injured arm slung close and bound to her chest. The scales she had grown had started to look dry and brittle, so he’d gently wet them with a wash cloth earlier. They now felt soft and healthy when he ran his fingers over the ones on her collarbone. Her breathing was soft and even, eyelids fluttering as she dreamed.

He hoped that they weren’t the nightmares he’d heard her wake up screaming from some nights.

After a brief moment of hesitation, he took her hand in his. Dick grazed his thumb over her knuckles, marveled again at just how small and delicate she seemed to be in comparison to him. Her skin was soft, the cold he’d felt the night before replaced by gentle warmth. He remembered the way her fingers had curled around his own before she’d surrendered to sleep, how gentle her touch had been. As if he was the one who would break, not her. Cradling her hand in his, he watched her face, waited for any sign that she was drifting closer to the waking world.

Just as he was about to give up, stand and resume his pacing, he felt her fingers curl around his hand. Koshka let out a small sigh and he watched, breath held, as her eyes fluttered open. The gold ring around her pupils had shrunk slightly, but the glaze that had been there finally cleared. She blinked, yawned and flashed her sharp teeth, before a sleepy smile lit up her face and stole the breath from his lungs.

“Hi Dick,” she said, voice soft and breathy.

Bringing her hand up to his cheek, he leaned into her touch and let his eyes slip closed. His cheeks ached from how hard he smiled, heart fluttering with relief.

“Hi Koshka,” he murmured back. “Welcome back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what's this, two chapters in one day??? well, technically this is just a little interlude, but it just kind of... bled out of me lol. it's real soft hours, y'all!!! i wanted a little something as a buffer between the intensity of the last chapter and the planned intensity of the next one. 
> 
> [recommended listening!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1r_x9HbKXeA)
> 
> thank you for reading, please stay safe and healthy! i love you!!


	10. Adore You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: discussion of past death
> 
> _i just wanna tell you something  
>  lately you've been on my mind_

While you were asleep, the rusalka kept you company. You could feel their presence, cold and strange and wrapped around you in a protective embrace. Their voice sang lullabies, cradled you when the pain slowly leaked into your dreams. And they let small pieces of what was happening around you leak in. Things they could hear but you could not. Most of it you still didn’t know what to make of. But there was one thing that you were certain of when you regained consciousness, felt Dick Grayson press into your touch and felt your heart lurch when you saw his dimples. You were certain that what you were beginning to feel for him was dangerous.

“Where are we?” you asked, letting your thumb graze over the smattering of freckles on his cheek.

“Just outside Burnside,” he answered, eyes drifting closed. “A friend is letting us use this safehouse for now.”

You hummed, watching as he nuzzled into your palm, his fingers loose around your wrist. His thumb brushed just over your pulse point and you suppressed a shiver.

“My dog…”

“She’s in good hands,” he said, one eye cracking open. “No one hurt her. Once this is over, she’ll be yours again.”

“I, uh…” You cleared your throat, pride smarting at what you were about to do. “Thank you. For everything. If you hadn’t been there—”

“You still would have gotten out. Honestly, you probably would have done better if I hadn’t gotten tangled up in all this.” Grayson—no, Dick sighed. Using his first name still felt strange, foreign yet better than the clinical tone of using his title or his surname. “But you’re welcome. I…”

He hesitated, brow furrowing. A wall still stood between the two of you, an uncertainty that your heart pushed up against. You sighed, letting your hand slip down to his jaw and feeling the stubble that roughened his skin.

 _Sweet girl,_ the rusalka whispered. You felt yourself tear up at their voice, the comfort of their presence. What had once been foreign and unwanted now felt familiar and welcome, a weight in your soul that seemed to fill the empty pieces of you. _Let the black bird in. Let yourself be soft. Let yourself be vulnerable. He will handle your heart with care._

 _I’m scared,_ you admitted.

 _Everyone who falls feels fear, darling._ The rusalka purred, stretched their presence into your hand so that your fingers tangled in the fine hair at the base of his neck. _Embrace it. This is a gift. And the black bird is here to catch you._

“Dick,” you said, voice catching. You cleared your throat. “I’m sorry that I’ve been so difficult with you. In my experience, both cops and vigilantes have either been a direct threat to me or ruined stories I’ve worked on. I still should have given you a chance. You… you are a very special person.”

Dick let out a soft laugh, let both eyes open as his fingers slid to rest lightly on your shoulder. Delicate, feather soft, as if you would shatter. It should have pissed you off, this gentle treatment. You were no doll, no damsel in distress. But it filled you with a strange warmth.

“I thought that I was infuriating,” he said, lips curling into a coy smile.

“You are,” you replied, eyes narrowing. “But… a good kind of infuriating. It’s hard to understand you. Every time I think I know what you’ll do, you do the opposite. And you could have saved yourself, but you stayed. You saved me.”

Taking back control, you grazed your fingertips over the bruises that blossomed on his face. After a moment of hesitation, you let your thumb brush over his split lip as well. He caught your wrist again, blue eyes boring into yours. Breath caught in your chest, you searched his face for… something. You weren’t sure what you were looking for, some change in the tenderness in his gaze. When he grazed his lips over the inside of your wrist, you felt heat rush to your face, pulse stuttering at the gesture.

 _Silly girl,_ you growled at yourself. You could feel the rusalka’s amusement at your embarrassment. _Maybe the concussion knocked me a little too silly._

Perhaps reading some discomfort in your face, Dick did not press any further. Instead, he took your hand in both of his and let out a heavy sigh.

“I’m probably supposed to say that saving people is my job,” he finally said. “But honestly, it feels like all of this… it’s become more than just a job. I’ve been briefing my boss, of course. I don’t want more cops swarming us. But it feels personal now. I want to keep you safe, Koshka.”

“That’s awfully soft of you, detective.” You smirked, pulling your hand from his so you could push yourself up into a sitting position. “ебать…”

“Careful.” He helped you sit up and maneuver so that you could rest against the headboard, your shoulder still aching. “For someone with an ancient spirit inside of you, you sure do look like hell.”

The rusalka hissed, displeased.

“They’re a little insulted,” you said. “To be fair, I likely would have healed better if I was taking better care of this body.”

“You didn’t eat for days,” he said, scowling. “Do you, like… need to eat people?”

“No!” You laughed, amused by the way the horror had slowly melted from his face. “I just need something raw. I know that’s gross, but… it’s the only thing I know that helps.”

“No, no, it’s okay! Not that gross, really. You need what you need.” Dimples appearing again, he hesitated before pressing a quick kiss to your palm before standing up. “I’m pretty sure there’s some meat in the fridge. Give me a second and I can bring it in for you.”

“Thank you.” The softness in your voice surprised you, but you tried your best not to show it.

With one last smile, Dick left the room and you sat further back. You let your good hand run over your face, groaning. Was this really who you were? Some silly, soft girl who went giddy around the first handsome man who showed her even a little bit of kindness? That was pathetic. But you couldn’t bring yourself to feel bad for it. Not with the way your insides felt soft and gooey, warm for the first time in years.

 _These feelings are allowed,_ the rusalka whispered. _We are here for you._

Huffing, you pushed yourself out of the bed, wobbling slightly. Someone had changed you out of your swimsuit and into a shirt much too large for you and pajama pants. Your thoughts wandered towards Dick’s hands on you before you shoved that out of the way. If there was one thing you understood about that man, it was that he would never do anything without your permission. Focusing back in on the present, you shuffled your way into the kitchen.

Dick stood when you entered, a package of chicken breasts in one hand and pork loin in the other. Gaze landing on you, he gave a hesitant smile and held both up.

“Uh, any preference?” he asked.

“I’ll take the chicken,” you said. Making your way over to him, you took the package and cleared your throat. “You, um… you may not want to see this.”

“It’s fine,” Dick said. He put the other package back in the fridge, then turned and leaned back against it. “You’re just eating.”

You grimaced, placing the package down on the counter next to him and slicing the wrap on it with one of your nails. After a moment of hesitation, you picked up the first piece of meat and began to eat. The moment your teeth sank into it, you felt control bleed away. Animalistic hunger took over, a low growl rising in your throat as you devoured the first piece of chicken and immediately dug into another piece. Then another, and another, and another until you had finished the whole package. Breathing heavily, you gradually came back to your senses, juices covering your hand and your mouth.

Dick stared, wide eyed. You shrank from him, afraid of his reaction. You’d just devoured an entire package of raw meat in front of him, after all. Perhaps the depths of your monstrosity had finally sunk in. Your belly felt full, the dizziness banished now that you had fed. Continuing to shrink back, you wiped at your mouth with the back of your hand and cleared your throat.

“Sorry,” you mumbled.

Each step he took towards you seemed deafening. You flinched away when he first reached for you. But after a moment, you let your fingers come up to gingerly touch his, urging him on. Dick pushed your hair from your face, ducked his head so that he could look you in the eye. He did not look disgusted or scared. Instead, he smiled, gentle and sweet.

“Don’t apologize,” he said. “I’m glad you finally ate. You shouldn’t be ashamed. You need what you need. Yeah?”

You grunted, not quite an agreement but enough to make him drop it. His fingers slid away and you let out a soft sound of relief. As comforting as his touch was, it felt odd for him to be so tender after such monstrous acts. Walking to the sink, you quickly washed off your face and your free hand before turning back to him. As wonderful as this warm little bubble was, you still had business to take care of.

“I think it’s time for me to tell you about my brother,” you said.

 _Oh,_ the rusalka said, _getting serious, are we?_

 _Shut up,_ you hissed.

Dick only nodded, crossing his arms over his chest and waiting for you to continue. After briefly examining the kitchen, you hopped up onto the counter across from him and let out a heavy sigh.

“Frankly, I… I’m not sure where to start,” you said, picking at a loose thread on the pajama pants. They were made of fleece and had little candy canes on them. “What do you want to know?”

“I only want to know what you’re comfortable sharing,” Dick said.

Great. That meant you only had to choose whatever you felt was important. Which, frankly, felt like everything.

“Anatoli…” You hesitated, curled further in on yourself. “He’s about five years older than me. We were both born and raised in Odesa. Our mother was a pharmacist and our father worked for the port authority. We lived near the ocean, and when I went to school I would walk as close as I could to it, just to smell the salt and the sea and everything that came with it. Our father had been forced to ignore shipments the Malina brought in many times. When I was fifteen, Anatoli left. We thought he was dead, but that was only because he honored the thieves code and cut all ties. A year later, my parents were killed. A car bomb. The authorities said it was an accident, but… but I saw their bodies. I was supposed to be in the car with them.”

You stopped, took a moment to collect yourself. Dick was silent, his arms still crossed tightly over his chest. And so you continued.

“We were supposed to go to Moscow but I didn’t want to. I was throwing a fit because a boy that I had a crush on had turned me down. My parents thought that letting me stay home instead of taking a vacation would be a proper punishment.” Closing your eyes, you let the cold touch of the rusalka calm you. Center you, push back the anxiety. “I think that Anatoli set the bomb, so that all of his previous ties could be severed.”

“Koshka…” The tenderness in his voice almost made you sick. So you raised your hand, made him quiet so that you could continue.

“When I first moved here and started tracking the movements of the Malina, I had hoped that maybe some piece of the person he had been remained.” Unbidden, tears began to roll down your cheeks, your voice hoarse with emotion. “Even before he shot me down, I knew that not a shred of the Anatoli I knew remained. He is in control of their operations in Blüdhaven and if he would kill his own sister, he would not hesitate to use children as killing machines.”

“Are you going to be okay?” Dick asked.

“What?”

“Hunting down your brother like this, knowing that he killed your parents, that he tried to kill you… are you going to be okay?” He let his arms relax and waited a moment before reaching out and using the sleeves of his sweater to dab at the tears on your face. “You can always back out, you know. File a story and then hand the information to me. I can handle it without you getting involved any further.”

Sniffling, you shook your head and wrapped your fingers loosely around his wrists. “I have to see this through. I can’t just quit. You understand, right?”

“I do.” Dick sighed, watched you with those bright eyes as you nuzzled into his touch. Like he knew you had been touch starved for so many years, like he knew the magnitude of you accepting his hand on your skin. “Will you at least stay safe until you heal? I can collect information for you if you need me to. But none of this will change if you get killed.”

With his touch so warm against your skin, his smile soft and gentle, you would have said yes to anything. How you had gotten so soft, you weren’t sure. But if Dick Grayson asked anything of you, you were sure that you would have given it to him. Perhaps you were just so desperate for human contact that wasn’t negative. Perhaps you had fallen in too deep. You weren’t quite ready to face those thoughts yet.

“Okay,” you murmured. Closing your eyes, you let him pull you in close. You felt Dick wrap his arms around you and you tucked your head into his shoulder, melted into the feeling. “But once I’m on my feet again, I won’t stay locked up in here.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to.” Dick chuckled, the rusalka letting out a purr when you felt his chest rumble against you. His fingers tangled in your hair, massaged at your scalp as you molded into his touch. “But if I’m out, I want someone here to look after you. There’s… a couple people who I think would be willing to. You can meet them first, if you want.”

You let out a hum of agreement, melting into the moment and letting the past and future problems dissolve. Just for that moment, you let yourself imagine that everything was fine and you were simply being held by a man who accepted you as you were.

\---

The moment that you met Barbara Gordon, you liked her. There was something about her sharp brown eyes, the way her smile seemed natural and kind. You could see why Dick had liked her so much. Frankly, you were confused as to why the two had ever split up, the chemistry between them natural and easy. Although it was platonic now, you could easily picture them as lovers. And although some part of you hurt thinking of it, you still couldn’t help but like her. She was kind, she was patient, and she did what she could when you spoke to her to make you feel normal.

Damian Wayne, however, you disliked from the moment he stepped foot in the apartment. The teenager was brash and loud and seemed to take pleasure out of pissing you off. A frown seemed permanently plastered on his face, nose turned up at you. While the rusalka had seemed at peace with the boy, you’d bristled at each off-hand, rude comment he’d made. Dick promised that it was just because he’d had a rough childhood, that he’d been raised to think behaving that way was okay. Still, he seemed a vicious contrast to Barbara’s warmth, all sharp edges and cold judgement.

Much to your dismay, Dick had told you that with Damian being on summer break from school and Barbara working longer hours at her library job, Damian would be the one to spend the most time with you. Of course, you hadn’t shared that feeling with Dick, who treated the boy like his own child. You tried to get along with him the first few times he was over, but your temper clashed with his and you’d ended up in the bathtub, gnashing your teeth and hoping that Dick would come home soon. When Damian was over, most of the day was spent with him watching some true crime shows on the TV while you stewed in the bathtub.

On those rare occasions when Barbara was with you, however, you found yourself hesitantly opening up to her as well. She was patient with you, never pushed you or antagonized you. Instead, she just let you be, happily conversing with you when you were up to it and keeping to herself when you needed to focus on analyzing the information you were receiving and giving Law daily story updates. When your temporary babysitters weren’t at the apartment, Dick was. He left early in the morning and came back late at night, obviously exhausted but still smiling when you came out to greet him. Sometimes he had new surveillance for you, sometimes he had redacted police files, and sometimes he was empty handed. The nights when he had nothing for you were the ones that seemed to hang heaviest on him, shoulders slumped.

Your relationship with him was still odd, fragile and tentative and balancing on the edge of a dangerous precipice. Dick slept on the couch, but he would hold your hand and talk to you until you fell asleep. He blatantly ignored the questioning looks both Barbara and Damian gave him, enveloping you in tight hugs as his greeting. The rusalka wasn’t sure what to make of it either, gently urging you to take things slow. Both of your lives were tumultuous, and pursuing anything beyond a fragile friendship seemed foolish at best.

Before you knew it, two weeks had passed in the apartment. Your shoulder was healing at an unnatural speed but you still kept it in a sling. The gash on your arm had become a vicious scar and all of your bruises had faded away. Daily updates were published on your story, editors kept busy as you cranked out piece after piece, kept pressure on the key players in the sick game you’d been roped into. Dick had come home with a grim update, the Malina’s shipments suddenly very different than what they had been. You worried that their plans had succeeded despite your best efforts, that children were being exchanged as weapons. But Dick told you that there was no metahuman activity yet, that it may just be Tiger Shark’s usual exotic animals as he sank his teeth deeper into Blüdhaven. You both fell into a schedule, easy and routine despite all the darkness shadowing your every step.

Then Dick didn’t come home one night. Barbara had been with you that day, growing more and more agitated as the hours ticked by and there was no word from him. She called him, texted him, even enlisted Damian and other boys you didn’t know to try and get in touch with him. But there was no answer. Fear seeped cold and black into your veins, rendering you silent as Barbara paced back and forth, back and forth. The rusalka tried their best to comfort you, cold touch stroking down your spine to calm you.

“What the hell is going on?” Barbara exclaimed, tossing her phone onto the couch and then throwing herself down next to you. “Maybe I should call Bruce. If he isn’t reaching out, then something might be—”

There was a knock on the door. Before Barbara could reach out and stop you, you had thrown open the door, breath held in hope that Dick would be there. Instead, a man that seemed familiar but who you couldn’t quite place gave you a sympathetic smile. Pulling at the sleeves of your sweater to make sure your scales were covered, you frowned up at him as Barbara came to stand just behind you.

“Ms. Koshka, right?” the man asked. He had a thick Jersey accent, blond hair slicked back and suit just a little too neat and well-tailored. Moving slowly, he pulled back his suit jacket and flashed the badge at his hip.

You felt your stomach sink, fingers curling into fists. “Yes,” you said, teeth clenched.

“My name is Detective Dudley Soames. There was an incident tonight with Detective Grayson,” he said.

The pit of despair grew and grew. Barbara put a hand on your shoulder, trying to soothe you and quell the shivers wracking your body.

“How did you know she was here?” she asked, an edge to her voice you hadn’t heard before.

“Ah, you must be Barbara Gordon.” Soames smiled, or at least attempted to, his face still grim. “Grayson let a few higher ups know where to find Ms. Koshka in case anything happened. We lost contact with him after a fire fight at the docks earlier tonight.”

“Ні, ні, будь ласка, не він ...,” you murmured, hands coming up to cover your mouth. You could feel tears burning hot. The last thing you’d told him was that you wouldn’t let him in the house unless he brought back more coffee for you. The thought of that being the last thing you said to him…

“No offense, detective,” Barbara said, “but why are you here? Why didn’t someone just call?”

“I’m here to take Ms. Koshka into protective custody in case this location has also been compromised.” Soames looked you over, something cold in his gaze that made you take a step back. “It’s best we move with a sense of urgency on this.”

“No offense, detective, but I don’t know if—” Barbara started.

“No,” you interrupted. “It’s okay. I’ll go. Babs, be careful, okay, and try to look after my stuff here.”

Barbara looked reluctant, opened her mouth to say something else. But you had already stepped out the door, slipped your feet into beaten up sneakers Dick had picked up for you a few days earlier. Just before the door closed, you saw Barbara’s eyes widen. Then it shut with a deafening finality and Soames dragged you away from your safe haven by the arm and towards a patrol car. His grip hurt, near bruising as he shoved you into the back seat.

It was only when you looked at the back of his head as he sped away that you realized you recognized him as the cop from the docks the night you were shot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [throws this chapter at you] man i just wanted to skip to the good parts so i apologize if some of this seems a bit hasty. 
> 
> thank you as always for reading. stay safe and stay healthy. i love you all!!
> 
> also...... might change the rating on this in a few chapters heheheh


	11. All That Remains Won't Be the Same

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: extreme graphic violence, mild sexual content, dubcon, sexual assault, mind manipulation, body horror
> 
> (if you are triggered by dubious consent and sexual assault, please skip from the first line of bold dialogue to the last line of bold dialogue)
> 
> _my sweet nothing_   
>  _now and again, i feel no shame_   
>  _all that remains won't be the same_

The tension in the squad car was palpable, heavy. Your fingers curled into the sleeves of your sweater, pulse racing. The illusion had already dropped from Soames, something cruel sparking in his eyes as he turned onto the highway. You knew what he was, and he knew that you knew. Taking a deep breath, you fought to keep your voice even.

“Where are you taking me?” you asked.

Soames let out a little hum, speeding up once he got into the carpool lane.

“I’m not taking you somewhere to dump your body, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he said. “Not yet, at least. There are some people who want to talk to you.”

You didn’t need to ask who those people were. You had a pretty good idea who would send a crooked cop to collect you. Jaw clenching, you remained silent. If Soames wanted a reaction out of you, he wasn’t going to get it.

“I was supposed to be the one to have protective duty, you know,” he continued. “We had it all lined up. My name was top of the list. Once I had you, it would have been clean. Plant a few things, make it look like you chickened out and ran back off to Ukraine. I mean, no one would have looked that hard for you. No friends, no family… It would’ve been the easiest job in the world. No one searches the bay for bodies. But Grayson just had to butt in and mess all of that up.”

You did not answer. Instead, you met his eyes in the rearview mirror. The coldness in them made you shudder.

“Nothing to say, huh? From what I heard about you, I’d thought you be a mouthy little bitch,” he laughed.

No, you were not going to rise to his taunts. You sank further into the back seat, jaw clenched so hard it hurt. You wanted to demand to know where Grayson was, you wanted to tell him go off and fuck himself. Most of all, you wanted to rip his throat out. But he was going at least 85 in the commuter lane, and you knew you wouldn’t survive a crash. You felt cornered, a wounded animal trying to find a way out.

 _There is an option,_ the rusalka said. _But we know you will not like it._

 _I’ll do anything,_ you said. _I need to get out of this and find him. I… I need to make sure that he’s okay._

 _Have faith._ The rusalka sighed, spread through your bones and into your muscles, pushed against the boundary of your skin. _Our kind have a gift. Our voices can sway minds. It is how we have lived for so many years. It is why people feared dark waters, knowing predators lay how could entice them into the depths. Some called us sirens, although we rarely used song to hunt our prey._

 _I…_ You hesitated, shifting in the seat and glancing out at the ocean. _If we do this, how fast can we swim?_

 _As fast as this body will allow us. We will take over, sweet one. If you want, you can sleep for this. We promise not to let things get… too far._ The rusalka seemed apologetic. Both of you knew what it might take to escape the situation.

 _No,_ you said. _I want to be present. You take care of it, but let me stay here._

 _As you wish._ The rusalka sighed, presence bleeding into all of you, sharing your consciousness and mirroring each breath you took. It felt odd, being present while someone else controlled your body and mind.

Now, though, you trusted them to do the right thing.

“ **Please pull the car over, detective,** ” the rusalka said through you. Their voice had turned your own melodic, strange and throaty. “ **Please. I… I need something from you.** ”

You watched in awe as Soames suddenly straightened at this new voice. His pupils dilated, grip tightening on the steering wheel. When he glanced at you in the rearview mirror, there was something predatory in the look that made your skin crawl. But the rusalka gave him a smile so sweet you were astonished that your face was even capable of the expression. They tugged at the collar of your sweater, exposing a sliver of skin.

“Now, this is a bit of a turn,” he said, voice deeper. “Why would I do what you ask of me?”

“ **I will make it worth your while** ,” the rusalka purred. Their eyes were hooded as they watched him, fingers curling under your chin. “ **You want to pull over the car, detective. Do so safely, please.** ”

Much to your surprise, Soames obeyed. He took the next exit, pulled off onto a scenic parking spot near the bay and turned in his seat once he had parked. His eyes raked over your body, so clearly appraising you that it made you sick. Truthfully, he wasn’t a bad looking man. If you didn’t know that he had plans to murder you and dump your body, you might have even found him attractive. But it took every ounce of self-restraint you had not to rip control back when he put his hand on your knee.

“Grayson not taking care of you, sweetheart?” he asked. His hand slid up to your thigh, stopping just at the hem of your shorts. “We can have a little fun before you face the music. I’m not that cruel.”

Disgusting, filthy man, you thought. The power difference probably turned him on, knowing that you were, ultimately, powerless to him and his employers. As long as you were in his clutches, there was little you could do to fight back.

“ **Come here** ,” the rusalka said, voice breathless. “ **Please, detective.** ”

Without any further questioning, Soames climbed into the backseat. Fully under whatever spell the rusalka had weaved with her voice, his pupils were blown when he shoved your back against the door, fingers curling at the bottom of your sweater and pushing it up to reveal more and more skin. You shuddered, but the rusalka urged you to get through it, their touch soothing against where they brushed up against you. Soames’ hands were cold, fingers rough as they pulled your sweater up to just under your breasts. The scales on your ribs and hips seemed to fascinate him, his hands moving over them.

“Didn’t know Grayson was into metas, but the scales are a little hot,” he murmured, his lips pressing against your jaw, then your throat.

“ **Tell me where Grayson is, please,** ” the rusalka gasped, arching your back and pressing into his touch.

His teeth scraped over your pulse before latching on hard enough to leave a bruise. The rusalka let out a breathy moan, pushing his jacket off and running your hands under the back of his shirt. You wondered if they were going to pull his gun, shoot the man dead. But no, the rusalka wanted to make it more painful than that. Your nails scraped over his back before your palms smoothed over his stomach.

“He’s off on a bogus call about some gang activity in the Spine,” Soames mumbled against your skin. “I disabled his phone before he left so he wouldn’t be alerted to it. But he’ll know what’s going on soon. We left a message for him to come to the docks. He’ll be taken care of soon.”

“ **Where at the docks?** ” the rusalka asked. He had moved down to bite at your clavicles, little marks and bruises blooming against your pale skin. “ **I would love to know, darling.** ”

“Pier 127,” he said. One of his hands had moved up to paw at your breasts, squeezing hard enough to hurt over your bra. His other hand was on your hip, grip bruising. “By the time I get you to your brother, he’ll be disposed of. And if you’re a good girl, maybe I’ll take care of you again…”

“ **There’s no need for that.** ” The rusalka smiled. “ **Thank you, detective. You’ve been very helpful.** ”

Just a small amount of control bled in as the rusalka shoved your hands into his stomach and twisted. Soames froze, his eyes wide as your fingers tore into his guts. The rusalka tilted your head, grin growing before they ripped his stomach to shreds with a flick of your wrists. Just like that they gave all control back to you. You felt the blood spill onto your own bare stomach, then your face when he coughed, blood leaking from his lips. Placing your hands on his shoulders, you shoved him away. Soames went without a struggle, back hitting the opposite door heavily. You wiped at your face with the back of your sleeve, blood dripping from your fingers.

“You know, Soames,” you said, pulling your sweater off and grinning at the shock on his face, “I’ve heard that being stabbed or shot in the gut is a long, slow painful way to die. Maybe you’ll go from blood loss first. But I hope you die in pain.”

“Y… you…” he coughed again, blood splattering the back seat.

“Save your breath. Thank you for the information, Soames. I’ll make sure that a few of your associates join you in hell.” With one last snarl in his direction, you climbed over into the driver’s seat and got out of the car.

Your legs were unsteady when you first stood. Taking a moment to digest everything that had happened, you leaned over and threw up, body shuddering. You could still feel his cold hands on your skin, teeth and nails scraping and marking. But you had asked to be present. And the rusalka had kept their promise. It could have gone much farther.

 _Are you okay, sweet one?_ They asked, guilt heavy in their voice. _We told you that it would be unpleasant, but we are still sorry. We should have just blocked you from seeing or feeling any of that._

 _No,_ you said. _No, I wanted to be there. I’m fine._

You straightened, taking a deep breath and spitting at your feet. If you didn’t hurry, there was no guarantee that you would get to the pier on time.

 _Do you know the location of that pier?_ You asked the rusalka.

 _Of course. We know these waters very well,_ they answered.

 _Good. When we hit the water, push this body as hard as you can. I don’t care how much it takes out of us._ You walked to the edge of the scenic outlook, took a deep breath as you took in the distance to the water below. _Do whatever it takes to get to Dick._

 _Of course. Whatever you ask of us, we will do._ The rusalka let out a purring laugh.

With one last steadying breath, you jumped, crashing into the water and letting the rusalka take over once more.

\---

The moment Dick Grayson looked at his phone and realized it had been tampered with, he knew he’d been led into a trap. He’d noticed halfway to the “massage parlor” in the Spine and had been tempted to turn around and head straight for the apartment in Burnside. But for all he knew, the people who had set the whole thing up already had Koshka and even one step out of their expectations could make them hurt her. Dick wasn’t willing to risk that.

So he played dumb when he got to the location, feigned shock when the building was empty and he saw only the words _Pier 127 you have one hour_ on the wall. He didn’t know if he had a tail, if someone was watching. He had to play his part. If he slipped up, if someone hurt her…

No. He wasn’t even going to entertain that thought. Koshka was smart, capable, and ruthless. As long as he did what was expected of him, she would find some way to solve the problem. He knew this, felt it deep in his gut. Barbara was with her, and if something happened, she would raise the alarm.

When he pulled up at the pier, he reached just under the glove compartment and turned on a beacon that Bruce had insisted he have. In emergency situations, it broadcast his location to Alfred. In case everything went south, he needed to know someone would find him. He needed to know that someone would look after Koshka.

Checking to make sure he had a baton stashed in his belt and that his service revolver was loaded, Dick took a deep breath and got out of the car. No one rushed him, no one shot at him. This late at night, it was eerie to hear silence. Further into the city, he’d gotten used to cars rushing by, horns honking, soft chatter and angry yelling at all hours. There was no bleeding neon either, just dim streetlamps that barely lit the path to a derelict looking building. That was where they were waiting for him. Dick briefly considered grappling up to the roof, sneaking in on them and observing the situation. But he also knew that they likely had eyes on him, and acting as anything other than a concerned, by-the-books cop would only escalate the situation.

Centering himself, Dick walked down the pier towards the building, one hand resting on the gun hidden in a holster under his jacket. He’d walked into worse situations and gotten out alive. If he read the room and played along, hopefully he could get out of the situation with minimal damage. Pushing open the door on rusting hinges, he hesitated for a brief moment before stepping inside.

The building was, of course, not at all derelict on the inside. It was well lit and furnished, various shipping containers and boxes stacked neatly and an office space set up in the open. A single man sat at the desk there, turning to face Dick as the door shut behind him.

Anatoli Orlov didn’t need to introduce himself. He looked so much like Koshka that there was no way Dick would have mistaken him. As he stood, Dick realized that the man was tall as opposed to his sister’s smaller height. Anatoli was also thickly muscled, the suit he wore tailored to show off that fact. Dark tattoos twisted over the skin that was visible on his hands and arms, winding up his neck and down his chest before disappearing under his open collar. But his severe face, sharp eyes, and dark hair? That was all Koshka. Dick was frozen in place for a moment as the man approached.

“Good of you to show up, detective,” Orlov said. His accent was nowhere near as heavy as Koshka’s, barely there in his deep voice. “I appreciate you playing along.”

“Couldn’t be rude and decline your invitation, could I?” Dick asked, keeping his tone light and forcing a smile as he approached Orlov. They both stopped just a few feet from each other, Dick quickly scanning him for any sign of a weapon. “Although just giving me a call would have worked.”

“Oh, you likely knew this was all leading to a trap long before you got to the plant location,” Orlov said. He smiled, a cruel edge to the expression. “You’re many things, Dick Grayson, but you’re not stupid.”

The amusement fell from Dick’s face then and he held his hands out at his sides, scowling. “Let’s not waste time here. How many men have you got stashed away waiting to jump me?” he asked.

Orlov snorted, shook his head. “There’s no one else here inside the building, Grayson. They’re all outside. If you get out of here, they’ll take care of you then. But right here, right now? It’s just me and you.”

“What do you want, then?” Dick asked. “The longer I stay out of contact, the more suspicious my people will get.”

“How did you get Koshka to fake her death?” Orlov asked. “How long has she been a meta?”

“Oh, she didn’t fake it when you shot her.” Dick felt the anger grow, chest tight as his hands clenched into tight fists. “You gunned down your sister and watched her body sink into the bay. But she’s not a metahuman. She’s something more.”

Orlov only narrowed his eyes, crossed his arms over his thick chest.

“Ukrainians have all these folk tales, right?” Dick said, letting his hand drift towards his belt. “There’s these things called rusalka. Vengeful water spirits. Women who died violent deaths in the water and were granted new lives to drag men to their deaths. Pretty sure she’s become one of those.”

“You’re telling me,” Orlov growled, “that my sister is some fairy tale creature? How stupid do you think I am?”

“Oh, I think you’re a world class idiot.” Dick grinned, fingers closing around slim metal. “You’re only just now seeing the consequences of that.”

Snarling something nasty in Ukrainian, Orlov reached for the gun tucked against the small of his back as Dick pulled out his baton and threw it. The baton hit Orlov square in the nose, his shot going wild as his finger squeezed around the trigger. Dick rushed him, planting his hands on the ground and kicking up with his combined bodyweight and momentum. His feet hit Orlov square in the chest, knocking the breath out of him and sending him stumbling back several steps. Still carried by his momentum, Dick landed light on his feet and sprang back up to land a hard blow with his elbow into the other man’s jaw. Once Orlov was off balance, he grabbed one of his wrists and spun him around, kicking his knees out from under him and sending him to the ground. Dick planted a knee in the small of his back and pulled out his cuffs, binding him tightly and letting out a heavy sigh.

“You really need to check that ego of yours, Anatoli.” Dick dug his knee a little harder into the base of the man’s spine, felt a savage thrill at the pained groan he elicited. “Not every cop in this city is a bumbling idiot who can be bought or disappeared.”

Orlov chuckled, twisting just enough to smirk at Dick. “And you should learn not to trust a criminal.”

Heart in his throat, Dick shoved away from Orlov. His reflexes saved his life. The bullet meant for his head went through his bicep instead. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to move through the pain and took cover behind a stack of boxes. Four men appeared from the shadows of the room, each brandishing a gun and all of them clearly ready to kill him. One set aside his gun to help Orlov to his feet, shooting through the chain on the cuffs and freeing him.

Dick clutched his arm, blood already leaking through his fingers, and cursed under his breath. Of course Orlov had lied. The man hadn’t risen to lead this branch of the Malina without making sure every angle was covered in every situation. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Letting out a hiss, he let his head fall back against one of the boxes briefly before he scanned the area for any potential exits. Three skylights, but with his arm injured he wouldn’t be able to pull himself through them or climb. One door, the one he’d come through. He didn’t even consider that route, as it ended with him pumped full of lead. There were two windows, about teen feet off the ground. If he powered through climbing up one of the shipping containers near the one closest to him, he could escape that way. Dick was planning the best route to take when the door exploded inwards and a body was thrown into one of the gunmen, knocking him to the ground.

“Anatoli!” Koshka roared. She came through the door looking like a vision straight from hell. Wearing only a bra and shorts, her skin was slick with blood. Her chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, eyes wild.

What made Dick’s blood run cold were the six slick, scaled appendages that had burst from the small of her back. They were all dark with blood, curling and uncurling against her limbs. Blood leaked from the spot they originated from. Since when had she had _fucking tentacles?_

The three gunmen who were still standing and Orlov all froze, staring at her. Then they opened fire. Dick watched with fear and awe as she moved with inhuman speed, launching herself at the one closest to her. One of the appendages shot out, wrapping around his wrist and making his shots go wild. Then she was on him, claws and extra limbs ripping into him and cutting his screams short. Several rounds came close to hitting her before she lashed out at the remaining two shooters. The tentacles snapped their necks, bodies hitting the ground heavily.

The man who’d been hit by the mutilated corpse was smart and stayed down.

Breathing heavily and letting the appendages wrap back around her, Koshka turned to her brother. She remained crouched over one of the bodies, muscles tensed and ready for attack.

“Where is he?” she snarled. Her voice was pure, unfiltered rage. “If you killed him, I swear—”

“Сестра,” he said, not bothering to hide his horror. “Чим ти став?”

“Кошмар, помста, що випливає з моря.” Koshka hissed, eyes glowing gold. Dick could barely make out the fact that her pupils had turned into cat-like slits from his hiding spot. “Answer me. Where is Dick Grayson?”

Orlov pulled his gun instead. Before he could fire, one of her appendages lashed out. In the blink of an eye, Anatoli Orlov lost his right hand. Blood gushed lazily from the stump, his hand landing a short distance away. The man screamed, clutching at the stump and staring in wide-eyed horror at what had once been his sister. She slowly stood, blood dripping from the slithering appendage.

Before she could do anything else, Dick emerged from behind the boxes. He rushed to her, stepped in front of her and placed his hands on her shoulders.

“That’s enough!” He shook her lightly, watched the anger bleed into something like relief as she looked up at him. “Koshka. We need to go, now.”

She opened her mouth, started to say something, but stopped. Instead, she gave a small nod. “Okay,” she said, voice small compared to her earlier roar. “Okay.”

Ignoring Orlov’s screams behind them, Dick wrapped his good arm around her and urged her outside. He paused for a brief moment once he took in the scene outside the warehouse. Orlov had not been lying about having men outside. It was hard to tell from the carnage just how many there had been. The lower half of one was still leaned up against a container, blood everywhere. Koshka had gone on a rampage to get to him, ripping apart anyone who got in her way. Stepping over a severed arm, he rushed to his car, urging her to get in on the passenger’s side. He could worry about washing the blood out of the upholstery later.

Both of them stayed quiet, the only sound the revving of the engine until they were out of the city. He pulled off on a side road, parked and pressed a hand over his still bleeding wound before he turned to look at Koshka. The appendages she’d sprouted had disappeared, sunk back into the base of her spine. She shivered, couldn’t look him in the eye. Perhaps she’d gotten caught up in the inhuman side of her. Perhaps what she was becoming had taken control. It seemed like the full weight of what she had done was finally setting in. Bruises bloomed on one side of her throat, some going down to her chest. Several of them were clearly bite marks.

The rage that rose in him was cold, bit to the marrow. He hoped that whoever had done that to her, had hurt her, was among the bodies to be counted. It was a vicious thought, something that went against his morals. But the way she trembled only stoked his fury.

“Who did that?” he asked, grip on his arm going white-knuckled. There were more pressing issues, but he couldn’t take his mind off of it. The thought of someone else touching her made his blood boil. “Who did that to you?”

But Koshka didn’t answer. Instead, she unbuckled her seatbelt, leaned over the center console, and pressed a hand over the one he had pressed over his wound. Her eyes met his, the gold already bleeding away to a thin ring around her pupils. Hand tightening over his, she leaned in further, pressed her forehead to his.

And then, with a slow, breathy sigh, Koshka placed her hand on the back of his neck and kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anatoli: sister, what are you?  
> koshka: a nightmare, vengeance wrought from the sea
> 
> phew. well. i re-wrote this one a few times. i wasn't really sure if i wanted to go with the more siren-like mythology of rusalka, but decided to go with it. if i missed a warning that should be on this chapter, please let me know. i think i covered everything, but it's possible i missed a potential trigger. also i gave koshka cool tentacles bc fuck you COOL TENTACLES.
> 
> as always, thank you for reading!! stay safe and stay healthy.


	12. Red Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: Dick is Kinda Into tentacles, just a fuckton of fluff
> 
> _my scattered mind and heart  
>  revolves around you tonight  
> impeccable red moonlight  
> puts me in a hold_

Most of the night had just been a blood-drenched haze to you. Snapshots got through the static in your brain, horrific violence wrought by you as you cut a bloody path to Dick Grayson. The rusalka had bled into you, the barrier between who you were and who they were blurred and bleeding as rage fueled you. If Dick was dead, if they’d hurt him in any way, you were going to make them all pay. You would tear them all limb from limb and—

And then Dick was shaking you, forcing you to look at him. Just like that, the rage bled away. The rusalka slunk back and away, let you have total control as he spoke. You realized that nightmarish appendages had grown from your back and urged them to shrink back. Consciousness came back to you slowly, your mind piecing itself back together until you were in the car, your hand on Dick’s.

He was bleeding. He was bleeding and he was furious. Mad because of the marks on your skin, not because of what you had done. Mad for you, not at you. Something in you broke then, something making you hold back shattering to pieces. Maybe it was the way he looked at you, like you were something to be cherished and protected. Maybe it was a need to wash away what Soames had done. Or maybe you had simply decided to stop be a fucking coward.

When you kissed him, he froze. You had pressed your lips to his gently, hand loose at the back of his neck so that he could pull away. There was something molten in your stomach at the touch, spilling out and filling you up. You pulled away quickly, the kiss fleeting and barely more than a gentle brush of lips. Letting out a shaking sigh, you gently pried his hand from the wound on his arm to get a better look at it.

“You’re hurt,” you whispered. The moment felt fragile. Your fingers trembled as they gently brushed over his bicep. Taking the initiative once more, you rose to your knees and ripped his sleeve off, tying it tight around the wound to slow the bleeding.

“I…” Dick looked dazed, eyes wide and tips of his ears flushed. He cleared his throat, gaze dropping to your lips. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.” You began to shrink away from him, prepared to spend the rest of the drive back to the safe house (if it was even safe anymore) in awkward silence. “I just—”

“Don’t apologize.” Finally, _finally_ , he reached out and brushed his thumb over your bottom lip, leaving a smear of blood. You didn’t mind. “You didn’t do anything I didn’t want.”

“Oh. … Oh.” You blinked, then felt blood rush to your face. Whatever strange courage that had led you to kiss him fled, replaced with terrible embarrassment. “We, um. We should go home so I can patch you up.”

“You know that I can do it myself, right?” he asked, amusement clear in his eyes.

“Shut up and drive, Grayson,” you mumbled.

His laugh was clear, dimples flashing as he leaned forward and pressed a fleeting kiss to your temple. When you blinked up at him, flush even brighter, he only laughed harder and then winced as he jostled his bad arm. Motioning with his good hand for you to buckle up, he pulled back out on the road and took a route away from Burnside.

“The place we were at is probably compromised,” he said. “I can get my phone back up and running and ask Babs and Damian to get your stuff and drop it off later. Bruce rented out a penthouse back in Gotham for me. It’s not quite secret, but there’s enough security in the building that it’ll be hard for anyone to get in without a fight. We’ll stay there for the time being and think up a new plan of action.”

“I think that’s as good a plan as any,” you sighed. As soon as you’d thought you’d had the situation in hand, applying the right kind of pressure to your targets, everything had gone to hell. Now you had a dead cop and a horrific crime scene. Plus, you’d cut off Anatoli’s hand. Your actions, rage-fueled as they had been, had effectively started a war. You knew that, deep in your heart. “… Dudley Soames was working for the Ukrainians, by the way.”

Dick’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, jaw clenching as he took an exit towards the Gotham business district. “Was he the one who…?” he trailed off.

“Yeah.” You sank further down in your seat. “The rusalka… she had a plan to get information from him so I could find you and save you. It, um. It involved her seducing him. Like, siren stuff.”

“Oh.”

The silence was deafening. Shifting uncomfortably, you pressed your cheek against the car window and watched buildings fly by.

“I’m sorry,” you said.

“What are you apologizing for? Seriously, I’ve never heard you apologize this much. Ever.” Dick sighed, taking another exit. “Look, I’m not mad at you. I’m not mad at the rusalka, either. So don’t think that I blame you for whatever happened. I’m mad at him. I’m mad at the situation.”

“Are you jealous?” you asked, glancing over at him.

“Yes.” He answered frankly, surprising you. At a stop light, he glanced back at you, something in his gaze that made you shiver. “I’m a little jealous. But I’m also mad that he took advantage of a situation where he had that much power over you and…” He stopped, cleared his throat and focused back on the road. “You… stopped before it got to—”

“Yes,” you interrupted. You pressed your fingers over the marks on your throat, your chest. “The rusalka had the situation under… sort of control, I guess. I’m okay, Dick. Really.”

“That’s… that’s good, then.” He said. With another heavy sigh, he drummed his fingers against the wheel. “Did you…?”

“Oh, he’s dead,” you said. “Ripped his guts out. There’s no way he survived that.”

“Good.” Dick reached out and gave your knee a small pat before returning his attention to driving.

The silence that stretched between you after that was more comfortable. You watched as slums turned into small businesses, then skyscrapers and dazzling towers of wealth. It made you a bit sick, the sudden contrast between the impoverished and the wealthy. The rusalka continued to stay quiet, keeping a respectful distance from your consciousness. They knew that the sudden blending of your minds had freaked you out. And, you figured, they knew that you would want some privacy after the kiss. Finally, Dick pulled into a parking garage in a towering building, muttering to himself until he found the correct parking spot. Killing the ignition, he reached into the backseat and handed you a sweatshirt.

“While I appreciate that being half naked and covered in blood is a hot look for you,” he said, lip quirking when you blushed, “it would raise a few eyebrows. Put this on. We can get it dry cleaned later.”

“What about you?” you asked, motioning to his makeshift bandage.

“Suit jacket,” he said, grabbing it from the back seat as well before getting out of the car.

You did the same, rushing over to him and helping him get his injured arm through the sleeve. This close to him, you could smell his blood and the spicy musk of his cologne. Letting your hands linger on his shoulders for just a moment too long, you stepped back and looked up at him. His smile was tender as he met your eyes, using the cuff of his jacket to wipe off a few smudges of blood on your face. You were hoping no one would look too closely at your legs, or the splotches of blood and swaths of scales on them. Quickly pulling the sweatshirt on, you took just a moment to really absorb just how much larger Dick was than you before following him to the lobby.

He slid an arm around your waist, bent to whisper to you. His lips brushed against your ear and you ducked your head, embarrassed.

“Play along, okay?” he breathed. He pulled you flush against his side, hand sliding to rest precariously low on your hip. “Affection makes people uncomfortable.”

Giving a small nod to agree, you molded yourself into him, braced a hand on his chest. Dick kept his head dipped close to you, lips brushing against your ear and throat with barely audible sweet nothings. When you looked up, you noticed the guard at the lavish front desk specifically keeping his gaze away from you, visibly uncomfortable. Still keeping up the act, Dick led you to the elevator, swiping a key card from his wallet. When the doors slid open, you let out a small yelp when his hand slipped down and into your back pocket. Thoroughly embarrassed, you shot a glare up at him just as the doors slid closed.

“Sorry,” he laughed, pulling his hand away and taking a small step away from you. “I was just trying to sell it, promise.”

“Whatever,” you mumbled, wrapping your arms around your stomach and trying to calm your stuttering heartbeat.

With him still standing so close to you, it was hard not to replay the feeling of his lips against your skin, the way his long fingers had gripped you so tightly. You needed to put it out of your mind. All of that was a distraction, that’s all. And you were terribly certain that with every touch, he only made you softer and softer. The elevator gave a soft ring as it reached the top floor, sliding open to reveal a warmly lit hallway leading to a singular door. Dick gently urged you forward, then unlocked the door to the penthouse and let you step in.

Immediately, you were overwhelmed. Just the living space was massive, larger than the house that you had rented. The wall facing you was made entirely of windows, dark leather furniture decorating the space. A few art pieces hung on one wall. The kitchen area was open as well, large enough for a small restaurant. Curling in on yourself, you followed Dick down a hall and into a lavish bathroom. The counters were all black marble, with his and her sinks. You glanced at the bathtub that looked more like a hot tub and immediately knew that you were going to spend a large chunk of your time in it. Dick cleared his throat to get your attention, a first aid kit already in his hands. God, had you really been that distracted?

“Still want to be my nurse?” he asked, offering a bashful smile.

You considered kissing him again right then and there, but controlled yourself. Instead, you took the kit from him and hopped up to sit on the counter. You pushed off his jacket, then pulled him closer so that he was standing between your legs. It was easier for you to reach his bicep in this position, although you had to focus much harder on unraveling the makeshift bandage so you wouldn’t get distracted by his… well, everything.

“It looks like the bullet went straight through,” you said, turning his bicep to inspect the exit wound. There was a sluggish flow of blood, making you wince. “I think it just hit skin and muscle. No arteries.”

“Good,” he said. “Can’t let a little bullet wound keep me down.”

“If it did, that would be okay,” you said, glancing up to frown at him. “You deserve to rest, you know?”

“Only if you take a break, too.” Dick raised an eyebrow, flashed you a grin. “I swear you work even more than me, and I have two jobs.”

You grunted, looking back away from him and reaching into the kit for rubbing alcohol and gauze pads. Adjusting his arm as gently as you could, you washed the entry and exit wounds, also cleaning up the blood on his skin. You tried very, very hard not to admire the musculature of his arm as you did so. Tossing the bloodied gauze in the sink, you dug around for the suture kit until you found it. You threaded the needle and then glanced up at him.

“I’d offer to hold your hand to help you get through this,” you said, “but I need both of mine.”

Dick laughed, a bit startled by the joke. Then he ducked his head, his nose brushing against yours.

“I’m a big boy,” he said, voice pitched low. “I think I can handle it.”

Shrinking back, you bit your lip and fought down yet another urge to just throw yourself at him. Honestly, this man. He laughed and leaned back into a comfortable distance. Taking a deep breath, you began to stitch his wounds closed. Dick didn’t even flinch, breathing even as you worked. After you’d finished stitching the entry would and moved on to the exit wound, you wondered, heart sinking, if he’d been shot enough times to get used to this. You finished the stitching quickly and placed pads on each of the wounds before wrapping a bandage thick and tight around them. With a small nod, you gave his bicep a little pat and leaned back.

“There,” you said. “All done. If you pop one of those stitches, I will eat your liver.”

“I’ll make sure to be careful.” Dick seemed to hesitate for a moment, gaze searching your face, before he braced his good hand on the counter next to your hip. Your breath caught in your chest as he leaned closer, breath fanning over your face. You shivered, hands curling in your lap. “Is your back okay?”

“I…” You blinked, surprised. “What?”

“Your back.” Another pause. Then he let his fingers slide under the back of the sweatshirt, brush over the small of your back. “Earlier, when you had the uh… tentacle-things? It looked like you were bleeding.”

“Oh,” you said, breathless. He simply let his fingers rest against your skin, warm and gentle. “Um, it doesn’t really hurt right now.”

“Can I see them again?” he asked. He looked… embarrassed? “Only if it won’t hurt.”

“Mm, I don’t think so.” You couldn’t even remember when they had burst out of you. Surely, much like your gills and your new set of teeth, it would hurt much less the second time around. Instinctively, you flexed a set of muscles low in your back, startled when the six appendages slid out. “Oh…”

Frankly, the slide of them out of you, the extra sensation of the marble sliding against them, felt _good_. Swallowing a lump in your throat, you steadied your breathing and tried to gauge Dick’s reaction. He seemed curious, nothing like horror or disgust on his face. Instead, he took the hand he’d placed on your back and lifted one of the limbs. The sensation was almost overwhelming, the scales sensitive to the touch. You bit your lip to keep any embarrassing sounds from slipping out, letting the tentacle in his hand gently wrap around his wrist.

“You didn’t tell me that you had tentacles,” he said, amused. When he didn’t immediately pull away, you let the limb curl further up his arm. “They feel like the belly of a snake. Soft.”

“C-cool,” you mumbled. The other appendages had curled around your arms and stomach, soft and warm against your skin. It was strange, suddenly having extra limbs.

Dick seemed to pick up on your reactions, running his nails over the underside of the one curled around his arm. This time you couldn’t bite back the gasp that escaped you, skin flushed as the sensation. His smile turned devious. “They must be sensitive, huh?”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, covering your face with your hands. “Y-yes.”

“Cute,” he chuckled. Dick let you uncurl the limb from his arm, all of them retracting back into your lower back. When you let out a small sound once they were tucked back under your skin, his eyes darkened. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” You cleared your throat, looked up at him through your eyelashes. “Why are you so calm about this? I… I have tentacles, Dick.”

“Frankly, Koshka, I’ve seen weirder. Like, aliens made entirely out of eyes and crocodile men and zombies. A few tentacles are nothing.” He pressed his forehead to yours, closed his eyes. “Also, you’ve been weird from the moment I met you. Nothing about you will freak me out. I was surprised at first, but so long as you’re you, I’m fine.”

Just like that, you knew that you had fallen too deep for Dick Grayson. The man pissed you off, defied every expectation you had of him. But he had also approached you time and time again with kindness and acceptance and an open heart. You didn’t deserve the warmth he offered you. Not with how wicked and cruel your heart could be, how sharp your tongue was, how hot your temper burned. But you wanted it. The more time you spent with him, the harder it became to deny that you were hopelessly attracted to him. Maybe it was foolish. But you wanted him. Chest full of something warm and gooey, you let out a soft sigh and rested your hands on his chest.

“You can’t just say things like that,” you said, voice breaking.

“Why not?” he asked, heartbreakingly soft.

“Because…” You curled your fingers in his shirt, heart racing. “It makes me fall for you more.”

For a moment, the words hung in the air. You let them, ripped yourself open and laid your heart out for him. It was a moment of vulnerability you had never had before, and it terrified you. Just as you were about to pull away, make an excuse to hide away in some part of the disgustingly massive place to cry, he reached out and caught you.

With a small laugh, Dick brought both hands up to rest on your jaw. “Then I’ll keep saying them,” he said.

Then, he leaned in and kissed you. His lips were gentle against your own, soft. It was tender, meant to soothe you. Your heart burst then, warmth spreading to your fingertips as they pulled him closer by the front of his shirt. Instinctively, your knees pressed in against his hips, toes curling. When you responded, he deepened the kiss, thumbs brushing against your flushed cheeks. His teeth grazed over your lower lip and you gasped, moving your hands up to tangle in his hair. Pressed flush against him, you abandoned yourself to the sensation, allowed yourself this moment of warmth and intimacy.

Parting to catch your breath, you opened your eyes to take him in. His flushed cheeks, kiss swollen lips, hair mussed by your fingers. Dick smiled, seemed to need a moment to catch his own breath. Then he was diving back in, one hand cradling the back of your head, fingers tangled in your damp hair, while the other clutched at your hip. He kissed you breathless, working you up until you were a gasping, panting mess. You’d moved your hands to brace on his chest again, felt the way his heart raced against your palm. Knowing that you were having an effect on him, too, brought you some comfort.

Finally, once you had melted into him and let him mold you into something pliant with his hands and lips, he pulled away. You almost leaned back in but caught yourself, skin flushed and mind hazy as he tucked your hair behind your ears and gave you a tender smile.

“You should shower,” he said, breathless. His voice was a low rumble, pupils dilated as he looked you over. “Wash… wash the blood off.”

“Right.” You sighed, hands slipping from his chest and back into your lap. Briefly, you debated inviting him to bathe with you. But you held back. You didn’t want to push too hard, go too far. Even if you had just made out on his bathroom counter after treating a gunshot wound, that would have been moving too fast. Frankly, you weren’t sure if you were ready for that. “Right, yeah.”

“I’ll put some pajamas outside the door for you.” Dick let his knuckles graze over your collarbone, goofy smile growing on his face. “They’ll… probably be pretty big.”

“That’s okay.” You smiled back, certain that you looked almost as silly as him. “Thanks, Dick.”

“Wow, a thank you, too? I’m really just tempting fate tonight, huh?” he laughed, backing away from you. Almost immediately you missed the warmth of him, knees clenching together. “Oh, and Koshka?”

“Yeah?”

“The sweatshirt looks really good on you.” Dick winked before he left, the door closing behind him with a quiet click.

 _So you will admit now that you are attracted to him, yes?_ The rusalka finally spoke up, smug.

 _Shut up,_ you said. But this time, there was no venom in your tone. _Also, when did I get tentacles?_

 _Oh, we have always had them,_ the rusalka said. _The detective seemed to enjoy them._

 _Oh my god,_ you said, _please don’t._

The rusalka simply laughed, deep and melodic, like music to your soul. You glanced in the mirror before you hopped off the counter. For the first time in years, the smile on your face seemed genuine.

\---

When you emerged from the bathroom, feeling slightly more human and wearing the sweatpants and gym t-shirt Dick had left for you, it didn’t take long to find him. Still drying your hair with a towel, you walked into the living room and felt your brain glitch when you spotted him.

He wasn’t wearing a goddamn shirt.

Dick looked up when he heard you slam your knee into one of the chairs, cursing under your breath. Setting down the tablet he’d been working on, he looked you over with an amused chuckle.

“You know, it usually helps if you look where you’re going,” he said. “You okay?”

“I am going to throw this chair out the window,” you snarled, face flushed. Letting the towel flop over to hide your face, you rubbed at your knee. It really had hurt. What the hell was this furniture made of?

“Ah, there’s the Koshka I know.” Dick chuckled again, standing up and crossing over to you. “Feeling better?”

You pulled the towel further over your head, not wanting to get distracted yet again and break your neck on the coffee table. “Yes,” you said, curled in on yourself. “Much better.”

One corner of the towel lifted and Dick ducked under it to grin at you. One glance at your horrifically flushed face had him in fits of laughter again. He stood up straight and tugged you into his chest, making your brain short circuit yet again.

“Cute,” he mumbled, one hand coming up to pull the towel off of your head while the other rested on your hip. “Have you always been this shy?”

“I’m not shy,” you grumbled. “I’m not cute, either.”

“That’s definitely not true.” Dick combed through your hair with his fingers, humming when you leaned into the touch. “You’re very cute. Sometimes when you’re angry you wrinkle your nose up. It’s adorable.”

“Shut up.” Closing your eyes, you leaned against him as he continued to gently card his fingers through your wet hair. “I’m a vengeful water spirit. Not cute.”

“Mm, a vengeful water spirit who sleeps all curled up in a ball and gets pouty when she doesn’t get enough coffee,” he murmured. “Still cute. You really can’t convince me otherwise.”

Not willing to concede defeat, you changed the subject instead. “Did you fix your phone?” you asked.

“Not yet,” he sighed. “But I managed to find a tablet that one of my brothers gave me so I could get in touch with everyone. One of them is going to come over tomorrow to take a look at it and get it running again.”

“Damian is technically your only brother, isn’t he?” You’d remembered mention of another boy in the files somewhere, but he had died years ago.

“Since he’s Bruce’s biological kid and I’m his adopted son, yeah.” Dick paused, fingers massaging the base of your scalp and drawing a pleased hum from you. “But he took some other kids under his wing over the years. They’re basically like brothers and sisters to me. Tim’s one of them. He’s the smartest person I know.”

“Is Barbara okay?” you asked.

“She got out fine. Said she’d already collected your things when I asked her to pick them up.” You felt him brush his lips against the top of your head and opened your eyes to look up at him. “She’s happy to know that you’re okay.”

“Dick…” You hesitated, brow furrowing as you tried to sort through your tangled thoughts. “Are we going to be okay?”

Taken aback by the question, he frowned. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“I mean… ugh.” You rubbed at your eyes, grumbled to yourself. “I made myself a target in Blüdhaven. Not just to the Ukrainians and Blockbuster, but for some of the cops, too. I’ve already been driven out of my own home, and you’ve been driven out of two. If this escalates any further, I’m afraid of what it could mean for your family.”

“They’ve been through worse.” Dick tipped your head up so he could look you in the eye. “It’s sweet of you to worry about them. But we’re probably the best equipped people to deal with things like this.”

You frowned. Of course, he was probably just talking about money. You didn’t have a very good grasp on Gotham and its own violent history. It was possible that the Waynes had gone through their fair share of being wrapped up in gangs and violence. Certainly, it would explain why the oldest son of Bruce Wayne put on spandex and flipped through the sky to fight crime. Most of all, you didn’t want to pry. While Dick had been very open and honest about many things in his life, you wanted to let him have his secrets. You knew very well that some things were too painful to share. Reaching up, you brushed hair back from his face and cupped his cheek.

“Promise me that if things get to the point that your family is threatened, you’ll back out,” you said.

“What?” Dick recoiled, looked horrified at the suggestion. “Koshka, I can’t just—”

“Trust me on this. Please?” You brushed your thumb over a little scar on his jaw, tried your best to express how you felt in your expression. “There’s not much I have left to lose, Dick. If I have to do this alone, I’m capable of doing so. I don’t want innocent people hurt because of my personal crusade.”

Dick took a deep breath, emotions surging across his face. What you were asking of him wasn’t easy, and you knew that. Dick Grayson was the type of man who jumped before he thought, valued others over himself. And that trait scared you. If he jumped into something that you couldn’t save him from…

“Okay,” he finally said. “I promise you. If things get that bad, I’ll bail. But you have to promise me that if I am forced to back out, you won’t do anything to risk your own life.”

That made you wince. Were you really that easy to read? Sighing, you pressed your forehead against his chest and let your hand fall away from his face. Was that something you could promise? If Dick left, you would have nothing left to lose. You’d put your own life on the line so many times to get a story you’d lost count. But if he asked it of you…

“I promise,” you whispered. “I promise.”

“Thank you.” Letting out a soft sigh, Dick brushed his lips over the inside of your wrist. “It’s late, you should get some rest.”

“Only if you go to sleep, too,” you murmured.

With a gentle smile, he nodded. “I promise. Let me show you the guest room.”

Lacing your fingers with his, you followed him down a long hall to a room that you would have thought was the master bedroom. The bed was enormous, sheets terrifyingly soft and smooth as you ran your fingers over them. Dick started to leave, but you grabbed his wrist to stop him.

“Stay with me,” you whispered. “Just… just to sleep. Please.”

Dick took a very long moment to think this over, chewing on his lip. Finally, he gave a small nod.

“Okay,” he said. “Go ahead and get in. I’ll be right back, okay?”

You nodded, climbing into the bed and getting situated. After shoving the blanket and comforter to the foot of the bed, you slid under the lightweight sheet and curled up on your side. True to his word, Dick was back quickly, setting his phone and the tablet on the bedside table before he slid in beside you. You held your breath, the weight of his arm curling around you as he tucked himself against your back nearly making you melt. Tucking your head under his chin, he gave you a gentle squeeze.

“Good night, Koshka,” he breathed.

“Mm,” you hummed, wriggling back and closer to him, your fingers resting on his forearm as your eyes drifted closed. “Good night, Dick.”

When you finally let sleep pull you under, you dreamed once more of the black bird. The rusalka sang soft lullabies to you as you were cradled in soft, downy wings. The nightmares did not come that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't know about y'all, but i needed a breather after the prior chapter. also this one was running a little long, so i decided to continue the Story At Large in the next chapter. being quarantined has really triggered the Fluff Center and Tenderness Button in my brain, so i feel like i went into a trance writing this lmao
> 
> thank you as always for reading, and for your sweet comments!! stay safe, stay healthy, i love you all!


	13. Roses are Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _under your skin, over the moon  
>  don't let me in, i don't know what i'd do  
> roses are fallin', roses from fallin' for you_

Waking up with your limbs tangled in Dick’s, skin slick with sweat and head resting on his chest as he snored, you had to take a moment to accept that the whole thing was real. You had rescued him the previous night, stitched his wounds, and acknowledged your feelings. When you attempted to detangle yourself, Dick drew you closer instead. A low groan rumbled from his chest, his fingers clutching at the back of your head and your hip. Face flushed, you tried hard not to think about his thigh pressed between yours, muscles clenching and then relaxing again.

“Just a few more minutes,” he grumbled, voice low and raspy and making heat pool low in your stomach. His hand at your hip had slid under the shirt you wore, fingertips sinking into the scales there and making you gasp. “Feels nice…”

“Dick…” You hated how breathy your voice was. You hated how you were pliant under his touch, easily molded and all too willing. Letting out a shaking breath, you let your nails scrape gently over his chest and down to his stomach. “It’s too early.”

In answer, he buried his face in your hair and groaned. His heart beat slow and relaxed under your cheek before he finally relented, his hold on you loosening before he rolled over onto his back. Both relief and disappointment washed over you as you sat up, stretching your arms over your head and groaning as you felt your joints pop. Running your hands over your face, you yawned and blinked several times before looking over at Dick. He hadn’t gone back to sleep, as you’d expected. Instead, he’d folded his hands on his stomach and watched you, a sleepy smile on his face.

“You have a coffee pot in this place, right?” you asked, groggy.

“Keurig,” he answered. “Pods should be right next to it.”

“Perfect.” You yawned again before leaning down and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Then, before he could pull you back down to him again, you slid out of bed and shuffled down the hall towards the kitchen. After a brief pause in the bathroom (and another moment to admire that massive bathtub), you made your way to the kitchen and stared at the Keurig for a moment.

 _Is coffee truly so important to you that you leave the arms of a man?_ The rusalka asked as you went through the motions. It took a few moments for you to find a mug, but once you had selected a light roast and had the machine running, you closed your eyes and let out a heavy sigh.

 _Yes,_ you told them. _If I ever meet someone who makes me forget about having my first cup of coffee, make sure I propose to them on the spot._

 _We assume from your tone that this will never happen,_ they sighed.

 _Bingo,_ you said. _If he doesn’t come out here by the time my cup is done, though, I’ll bring one to him. But I bet you he comes out before then._

 _Ah. See, we knew that you were soft,_ the rusalka teased.

You snorted, rubbing at your face again as the machine finally finished. Just as you reached out for your mug, you felt arms wrap around your middle before Dick rested his chin on your shoulder and let out a dramatic sigh.

 _Told you,_ you told the rusalka. They only let out a long, melodic laugh as an answer.

“If I asked you for that cup of coffee, would you kill me?” he asked, eyes hooded and words slurred with sleep as he nuzzled against your neck and shoulder.

“I’ll show mercy just this once.” Rolling your eyes, you motioned for him to take the mug. “Don’t expect me to always be this soft.”

“You? Never.” Dick chuckled, pressing a quick kiss to your jaw before releasing you and reaching for the coffee instead. Taking a sip, he sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Best sleep I’ve had in a while,” you said, taking down another mug and starting up your actual first cup. “And I didn’t wake up immediately stressing out about the emails and edits and news updates I’ve missed, which helps.”

“Maybe you should just take today off,” he said. “I suspect Tim will have your stuff when he comes by, but it might be good for you to just take some time for yourself.”

You snorted, shooting him a dark look. “I’ll take a day off when I’m dead, Grayson. Once I have my stuff back, I’ll put the pressure on them again. The more scrutiny all of them are under, the better.”

Dick did not look convinced, but was also smart enough not to argue with you on that. So he shrugged and took another long swig of his coffee instead. Never one to let being petty slip by you, you glared at him as you swiped your own mug from the machine and let a growl rumble at the back of your throat.

“I let you have the first cup of coffee and this is what I get,” you grumbled. “No more, Grayson. I’ve learned my lesson.”

“Aw, you’re doing the nose scrunching thing,” he said, tone light. Amused by your annoyance, he ruffled your hair before ducking out of the kitchen to avoid your wrath.

 _It is very cute,_ the rusalka added, unhelpfully.

 _Don’t, please._ You sighed, sipping at your coffee before joining Dick in the living room.

Stopping just a few feet behind him, you took a moment to admire him. As much as you had denied having any kind of feelings for him, you’d always admitted that he was a very attractive man. With his sweatpants hung low on his hips, you admired the musculature of his back, the way the sun painted his skin a pleasing caramel color. Scars littered his back and arms, some pale and nearly faded away, some still fresh, bumpy slashes of jagged scar tissue that marred his otherwise smooth skin. The sudden urge to kiss them rose in you, hard for you to wrestle back down. Your fingers tightened on the mug, grip white-knuckled in your losing battle not to reach out and touch him. After last night, you were fairly certain that you were allowed to, that he would welcome any brush of your fingers or lips.

You were also terrified that with each touch, each kiss, you fell deeper and deeper into something that you weren’t sure you could ever climb out of.

Shoving aside your mushy, sickly sweet thoughts, you finally stepped closer to him, stopping next to him and looking out the windows to admire the Gotham skyline. His hand came to rest on your lower back, as if he just couldn’t quite keep his hands off you. Probably just because he was still sleepy, you rationalized.

“Gotham looks kind of beautiful from up here, doesn’t it?” he asked.

Not really. There was a section of downtown that wasn’t crowded by dark buildings that seemed nice enough. Otherwise, what you could see of the city looked depressing. Downtrodden people dragging themselves to jobs they hated in a city they couldn’t leave.

“I guess,” you said instead.

Picking up on how unconvinced you were, he pulled you flush against his side and pointed to a building off to the right.

“See that building there, with the red roof?” he asked.

You grunted in assent.

“Best banh mi I’ve ever had. The owners immigrated here from Vietnam during the war and have kept the place family run and owned for over 40 years. They have four sons and two daughters.” He pointed to another building just a few blocks away. “That used to be an Italian restaurant, but it closed down a few years ago when the Italians decided not to back it anymore. That’s where I went on my first date. Used to have the best chicken parm. It’s a payday loans business now.”

“We have places like that in the Blud,” you pointed out.

“Yes,” he said, “but when you have memories tied to them, it changes the way you look at them. I’m sure you have places you go to that I don’t think much of. When you live somewhere, and you have the right state of mind, even the dingiest, dirtiest places can be beautiful.”

“Ugh,” you said, “I forgot that you’re an optimist.”

Dick sighed, fingers curling around your hip and head resting on top of yours. “Think of it this way, then. When you’re all the way up here, anything seems possible. Down there, on the streets, it can be easy to let all the bad shit happening get to you. But when you’re above it all, you realize how much possibility this city has.”

“Hm.” You weren’t entirely convinced, but that probably just came down to the fact that you were a devoted pessimist. “That’s the mindset of a prince of this city, though. For a lot of these people, it’s near impossible to claw their way up to the top.”

“Which is why people like me and Bruce are trying our best to make it easier for them.” Smiling, he pointed to a demolished building in the business district. “See that? Wayne Enterprises is making that a relief shelter for the homeless. They’ll get an apartment, basic necessities, and there’ll be counselors there who will help them apply for jobs and classes at the community college.”

“A band aid on a bleeding wound,” you murmured. “But it’s still nice that your father is doing his best for the city.”

“The more time you spend in Gotham, the more it’ll grow on you,” Dick said. “You’ll see. There’s some really amazing things about this city, not just crime and violence.”

You weren’t convinced, but you let out a small hum of agreement anyways. Trying to focus on finishing your coffee, you shuddered as Dick bent and placed a trail of tender kisses against the column of your neck. His own mug was already empty and he held it in a loose grip, more focused on grazing his teeth against your pulse. You tried to warn him to stop, your grip loosening on your coffee, but your voice came out breathy. When you had turned into some fainting, delicate Victorian lady, you weren’t sure. Just as his hand had started sneaking up your shirt, you heard the lock turn. A snarl already rising in your throat, you pulled free from his grip to stand in front of him. After the last few weeks, you weren’t about to let someone take you by surprise again. By the time the door had opened, your razor sharp teeth had slipped into place, one hand on Dick’s chest to hold him back and extra limbs ready to slide out from your spine.

“Whoa.” The boy who had stepped inside held his hands up, eyes wide as the growl rumbling from your chest grew louder. “Uh, Dick?”

“Koshka, it’s okay.” Dick removed your hand from his chest, quirking an eyebrow at your defensive stance. “This is Tim. I said he was gonna be coming over, remember?”

“Oh.” You blinked, muscles relaxing and face flushing. “Uh, right.”

What a way to make a first impression, you thought. Still looking a bit reluctant, Tim waited until you slipped behind Dick before he finally closed the door behind him. You realized as he walked to the living room that he was carrying your duffel bag and work backpack, carefully placing both on the sofa.

“Sorry about that,” Dick apologized for you, pulling Tim into a tight hug. “We’re both just a little on edge right now.”

“No worries.” Tim gave Dick a hearty clap on the back before extracting himself and looking back over at you. “I’m Tim Drake. It’s, um. It’s nice to meet you.”

Too embarrassed to speak, you simply gave him a small nod. Dick sighed and set his mug down before motioning to you.

“Tim, this is Koshka. Give her a bit to get some more coffee in her and she’ll loosen up,” he said. Turning back to you, he furrowed his eyebrows. “If you wanna take some time for yourself, I’m gonna talk shop with Tim for a bit. That okay?”

You nodded again, relieved at the easy out. Snatching up your bags, you gave Tim a strained smile before retreating to the guest room. Digging out a pair of jeans, fresh underwear, and a tank top, you made sure to close the door before you changed. Once you had gathered yourself, you snuck out and back into the kitchen to get another cup of coffee. The two men had moved to the couch, speaking in low voices. If you strained, you could probably hear them.

 _Perhaps we should not eavesdrop on them,_ the rusalka said. _The black bird deserves some privacy so that he can settle things with his family._

 _I guess,_ you sighed. It was hard to suppress your innate urge to eavesdrop and be nosey, but you figured you could do so just this once as a favor to Dick. _I have emails I need to answer and work to do, anyways. If they need me, they’ll let me know anyways._

Just as you were about to make your escape, Dick noticed you and grinned.

“Hey, Koshka, can you do me a favor?” he asked.

Glancing at Tim, you cleared your throat and shrugged. “Sure,” you mumbled.

“Grab my phone, please? I left it on the nightstand,” he said with a sigh.

You were suddenly very aware of Tim’s gaze on the marks on your neck, a flush blooming on your skin as you gripped the mug a bit tighter. “Okay,” you squeaked.

“Get a shirt for him too,” Tim sighed, rolling his eyes before returning his attention to Dick.

Wishing that the earth would swallow you up and put you out of your misery, you power walked back down the hall to the bedroom. You did not want to think about what Tim was probably assuming about your relationship with Dick. Marks on your neck, wearing his clothes, hair disheveled… frankly, you couldn’t blame him for jumping to conclusions. It did not help your rising sense of complete mortification, however. Snatching his phone and grabbing the first shirt you saw, you threw both of them in his lap once you were back in the living room.

“There,” you snapped. “I’m going to be working, so don’t bother me unless it’s an emergency.”

Sending both of them a half-hearted glare, you practically jogged to your hiding spot. Just before you slammed the door shut, you heard Dick let out a heavy sigh as Tim laughed.

\---

Tiger Shark sneered down at Anatoli Orlov. The Ukrainian was still looking pale, dark circles under his eyes and the stump where his hand had been heavily bandaged. His grip tightened on the white rhino-horn cane he always carried with him. Briefly, he considered bludgeoning the man in front of him to death with it. If it wasn’t for the fact that he needed the cooperation of the Ukrainians to gain the foothold he wanted in Bludhaven, he would have killed their leader about five times over.

“How many times are you going to let this fucking journalist get away?” he snarled. “Are you and your mean really this incompetent?”

“She killed seven of my best men,” Orlov answered. His voice was softer than usual, weaker. “You saw what she did to them. It took hours just to clean up all the blood.”

“You promised me you would take care of her and her guard dog.” He used the tip of the cane to raise Orlov’s chin, pressing it against his adam’s apple. “And now they’ve both run off to Gotham.”

“I have contacts in the Whisper Gang,” Orlov said. “If they’re warned about the girl, they can take care of both of them. Discreetly.”

“No,” Tiger Shark sighed. “I think you’ve proven your methods are a failure. Blockbuster withdrew from the deal already, I don’t want you to fuck this up any further. I have people in Gotham who can take care of this. Grayson will be an issue since he’s borderline untouchable there.”

“Let us take care of him when he’s back here, then.” Orlov gasped a bit when the cane pressed harder into his windpipe, voice strained. “If your people take out the girl, he’ll come running back here.”

Laughing, Tiger Shark flashed his forked tongue before finally lowering the cane and letting the other man breathe properly again.

“How about we make this more interesting?” he hissed, leaning down to Orlov. “I give my assassin 72 hours to get to the girl. You have those 72 hours to prepare and figure out a way to draw the detective into your trap. If everything goes to plan, you’ll have your first shipment of metas in within the week.”

Clearly seeing that he was backed into a corner, Orlov scowled before extending his remaining hand. Both men snarled as they shook on it. In 72 hours, they would either succeed or see their empires crumble around them.

\---

**72 hours remaining**

“Bruce wants to meet you.”

Looking up from your laptop, you frowned at Dick. He simply smiled back from where he leaned against the doorframe.

“Why does he want to meet me?” you asked, gaze flicking back down as you continued typing.

Dick sighed, approaching the nest you’d made for yourself on the bed. You refused to look up from your work as he sat next to you, pushing the hood of the sweater you’d put on back from your face.

“Because he’s curious about the woman who’s turned my life upside down,” he said, ignoring your growl as he closed your laptop. “And because he’s got resources that are going to help us out of this situation.”

“I don’t want his help,” you said. When he pulled the laptop away and tossed it on the other side of the bed, you bared your teeth at him. “Seriously, Dick, I have deadlines that I need to meet and—”

“We need whatever help we can get at this point,” he said, frowning. “Your writing is good at keeping them on their toes and backed into a corner, but it can only do so much. With Wayne backing, there’s a real chance that you can send both Tiger Shark and the Malina running away with their tails tucked between their legs.”

“What interest could a millionaire playboy possible have in the organized crime scene in an entirely different city?” Curling up further in the little pillow nest you’d created, you pointed an accusing finger in his face. “I know he’ll have something he’ll want from me in exchange and I’m not interested in playing to the fickle whims of the rich and famous.”

Clearly trying his best not to lose his temper with you, Dick took your hand in his and laced your fingers together.

“Then how about this: come in with an open mind and meet Bruce. If you’re not comfortable with the situation, you can say no. If you do like what he offers, then you can say yes to the help. Either way, I’ll take you out for dinner afterwards,” he said.

“Hm.” You narrowed your eyes. “Like out to dinner as a date?”

“Yes,” he laughed. “Like a date. Does that sound like a good deal to you?”

You pretended to think it over, although both of you already knew what your answer was going to be. Heaving a dramatic sigh, you rolled your eyes and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Fine,” you grumbled. “But I’m not changing into anything fancy.”

“Wouldn’t dream of asking you to,” he said, flashing his stupid, charming dimples. “Might want to brush your hair, though.”

**70 hours remaining**

By the time you arrived at the Wayne Enterprises building, you were out of patience and fully prepared to kill anyone who so much as looked at you the wrong way. Gotham traffic was somehow even worse than you had expected. Dick had asked you to go ahead and go inside while he found a place to park because you had already started to carve deep scars into the leather seat with your nails. Then you’d had to wait inside and convince yourself that actually, eating the face off the lady at the front desk who kept shooting glares at you was not a good idea. When Dick finally came in, looking apologetic and wrapping an arm around your waist, you found that shooting a smug look at her as she watched you in surprise was almost as satisfying.

“Sorry about all this,” Dick murmured. “Come on, we can just head up to his office.”

With one last satisfied grin at the shell-shocked woman, you let him lead you to the elevators. A pad by the buttons scanned his palm, a soft ding announcing the system approval before the doors slid open for you. As Dick hit the button for the top level, you fiddled with the sleeves of your sweater.

“I’m definitely not the type of person that usually comes here, am I?” you asked.

“Mm, I don’t know,” Dick hummed. “Bruce brings a lot of beautiful women back here with him.”

Rolling your eyes, you made sure the light punch you aimed at his arm fell well below his injury. “Shut up,” you growled, “you know what I mean.”

“Yes, the people who come here are usually obscenely wealthy,” he relented. “Did anyone give you a hard time while I was parking?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” you answered, grinning when he gave you a worried look. “Don’t worry, no one got killed or anything. I’m the last person who would ever get their feelings hurt by being called poor or low class or whatever. If anything, it’s a compliment.”

Dick didn’t look convinced.

“That lady at the front desk looked like she was going to shit herself when the son of the great Bruce Wayne got all snuggly with me,” you said. “It made my whole week.”

With a small sigh and a fond smile, he gave your hand a light squeeze. “I forgot how vicious you are,” he said.

“You love it,” you purred.

“Like the masochist I am,” he sighed. “Please just try to be on your best behavior, okay? Bruce is a bit… difficult, but he’s still a good person deep down.”

And he was an incredibly important person to Dick. You were aware of that, knew it as an unspoken fact. If you didn’t get along with Bruce, you were a little concerned that it would make whatever your relationship with Dick was more difficult. Even if it did make you want to die a little on the inside, you would play nice. Just this once, for him.

The elevator doors slide open at your stop and you moved to pull your hand from his, but Dick only held on tighter as he stepped out. Shoving down a bit of embarrassment at the small public display of affection, you allowed him to pull you through a coldly lit and decorated lobby and past an empty desk towards the office that stood in the middle of it all. The blinds on the windows were drawn and you steeled yourself as Dick knocked on the door and then opened it. Tipping your chin up and holding your spine straight, you walked into Bruce Wayne’s office with only a small amount of trepidation. Tim Drake stood off to the side, offering you a timid smile. Of course, you thought. Only a bit of nepotism.

Bruce Wayne stood from his desk and you felt all your self confidence drain away immediately. The man was _gigantic,_ carried himself like he knew it and used it to his benefit. His dark hair was slicked back, two patches of grey growing in it at the temples. Steely blue-grey eyes met yours, cold and analytical. Stepping around his desk, Wayne towered over you for a moment before he held his hand out to you.

“Thank you for coming, Ms. Koshka,” he said, voice deep and rumbling.

Taking his hand and giving it a firm shake, you tried very hard not to think about just how tiny your hand felt compared to his.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Wayne,” you said.

“I looked up some of your stories when Dick first told me about you.” Quirking an eyebrow, you watched the corner of his lip curl up in the smallest of smiles. “You do good work.”

“I know,” you said, smirking right back. “But thank you for the compliment.”

Wayne released your hand with a dark chuckle. “You’re welcome. Dick says you’ve found yourself in a bit of a… situation.”

“To put it very lightly, yes.” You glanced up at Dick, frowning. He just shrugged. “No offense, Mr. Wayne, but I’m not sure what exactly you can do to help me.”

“As you’re probably aware, my business has fairly deep pockets,” he said. “My pockets are able to go just a little bit deeper and are less likely to be scrutinized.”

Bristling, you tried hard not to let yourself look as offended as you were. “Throwing money at things doesn’t just make them go away,” you ground out through gritted teeth. “If you’re just going to insult me by throwing money at me then I’m afraid you’ve wasted both your time and mine.”

Tim and Dick both stared at you with wide eyes. You felt Dick move to take your hand but jerked away, not in the mood. Wayne, however, was completely unphased.

“Let me finish before you get offended, please.” His smile was cold, didn’t reach his eyes. “I wouldn’t insult you by thinking buying out the people antagonizing you would solve the problem. I’m not stupid, Ms. Koshka, and I’m very aware that they’d take the money and kill you anyways. What I was going to say is that I have connections in this city. There are certain resources that I could make available to you should you need them. Private security, fake identities, safe houses. I’ve had my fair share of close calls with dangerous men. If you’re willing, I’d like to set you up with some extra security while you’re staying in Gotham.”

“What do you want in return?” you asked, neither of you blinking at your bluntness. “I’m not going to insult you back by pretending this is all done from the kindness of your heart.”

“Once this is all over, I’d like you to stay in Gotham for a while,” he said, surprising you. “Even if you do get the best case scenario, Bludhaven will still be a dangerous place for you for a long time. I’ll set you up in an apartment here and all I ask is that you do some investigative work for myself and Wayne Enterprises. I have some suspicions about some of the people I do business with and I think that you have the skills to look into them discreetly in ways I and my people can’t.”

“I’ll still be paid for my work?” you asked.

“Of course.” He glanced at Dick, smirking once more. “And if you’re here in Gotham, I suspect Dick will come to visit more often.”

 _What do you think?_ You asked the rusalka, frowning.

 _We believe that any help is appreciated. Although we share your desire to solve this problem alone, we think it would be wise to accept Wayne’s offer._ The rusalka let out a thoughtful hum, presence bleeding into your thoughts. _We also think it would be nice to have new waters to become familiar with._

_But what about my job? I can’t just leave. The paper needs me._

_We think that you need this news paper more than it needs you._ The rusalka sighed. _Sweet thing, you have devoted so much of your life to one thing. Perhaps you should try something new and see if this new path is better._

With a small sigh, you tipped your chin up and squared your shoulders. “Deal,” you said.

Smile softening so slightly you almost wondered if you were imagining it, Wayne laid a hand on your shoulder. “I know doing this probably hurts your pride,” he said. “I’ll make sure you’re taken care of discreetly. And I appreciate the amount of trust it takes for you to place your life in our hands.”

“Just know that if I do get killed because of all this,” you said, letting yourself smile, “I will haunt the shit out of you.”

Wayne laughed, his face lighting up, and you suddenly realized why so many women would trip over themselves to have even a little bit of his attention. His fingers tightened for just a moment on your shoulder before he stepped back.

“Noted,” he said, eyes bright with amusement. “Tim, go ahead.”

Hesitating for just one moment, Tim Drake stepped forward while Bruce Wayne stepped back behind his desk. When you turned your attention to him, he flinched before taking a deep breath and holding out a phone to you.

“This is WayneTech,” he said, “and contains heavy encryption. Only people who are whitelisted by me can get in contact with you on this. After 48 hours, any and all information on it will self-destruct, so make sure anything you need is backed up.”

Making the incredibly kind decision not to immediately fuck with him given how terrified of you he seemed to be, you took the phone and tucked it into your back pocket. Once you looked back up, he held out a tablet as well.

“This has the same encryption, as well as a notes app with an open channel so that you can send any story updates to your editor from this. Just make sure to give me their email address and I can whitelist it,” he said. “I also put Slack on here with a group chat including myself, Bruce, Dick, Barbara, and Damian so that we can all keep in touch if you have to meet a source alone.”

Handing the tablet off to Dick, you turned back to Tim and cocked your head. “I’m assuming you have more,” you said.

Cheeks flushed, Tim cleared his throat and dug into the pocket of his jeans before pulling out a bracelet. “Just… just one more thing, for right now. Bruce had this rushed when Dick got in touch with him about you meeting. It’s got a GPS tracker in it so that we can know where you are. If you’re in a situation that requires immediate assistance, just press the charm here…” He motioned to a bird charm with a sapphire embedded in it. “It’ll send a distress signal to a select group of people who can be there in under a minute.”

“It’s pretty.” You turned the bracelet over, looking at each of the charms (the bird, a bat, a mermaid, and another bird with a small ruby in it) before you clasped it around your wrist. “At least my little shackle looks nice.”

“Just remember that this is temporary.” Dick smiled down at you, taking your hand and admiring the bracelet on your wrist. “Once you’re in a safer position, you’ll be free to terrorize the public at large again.”

“Honestly, I just want to have my dog back,” you sighed.

“She’s had the best of care,” Wayne answered, surprising you. “Damian’s enjoyed having her as well.”

Despite knowing exactly what Dick would think, your nose scrunched up in anger as you turned to him. “You gave her to Damian?” you hissed.

“He likes dogs,” he said, holding his hands up. “From everything I’ve heard, he’s been taking good care of her.”

Grumbling to yourself, you set aside your annoyance at the one person Dick had introduced you that you hated having your precious puppy. After a moment, you shoved your hands in the pockets of your sweater and looked back at Bruce Wayne. Much to your chagrin, he looked amused.

“Anything else you have for me while I’m here?” you demanded.

“Once the other pieces are set into motion, we’ll be in contact on the phone we’ve given you,” he said. Folding his hands on his desk, he moved his attention to Dick. “I’m sure that you have other plans, and I have other things to attend to. Thank you again for meeting with me, and thank you for accepting my help, Koshka. I look forward to meeting you again.”

“Likewise,” you said, shooting an amused look at Dick, whose ears were already flushed. “I appreciate the offer, Mr. Wayne.”

“Please,” he said with a sly grin that you appreciated, “call me Bruce. Take care.”

With that, you left the room with Dick just behind you, the sound of the door closing behind you almost deafening. When you turned to look at him, he let out a deeply troubled sigh.

“I know that you remind me a lot of Bruce,” he said, “but I’m a little concerned at how smoothly that went.”

“Oh Dick,” you sighed, sliding closer to him and brushing a kiss to his jaw, “I am very much looking forward to terrorizing you with Bruce Wayne’s support.”

When you laughed, you let the rusalka’s own melodic amusement bleed in with your own.

**69 hours remaining**

After spending a few minutes talking Dick out of taking you to a Ukrainian restaurant (which ended with you promising to make him the best syrniki he’d ever had the following morning), he took you to a nearby Thai restaurant that he had frequented in high school instead. The older woman at the hostess stand lit up when she saw him, speaking to him in Thai. When Dick answered, you stared up at him in awe. He merely gave you a shy smile in response before you were seated at a table near the back, the chatter in the crowded building melting into a dull buzz. When she departed your table after pinching Dick’s cheek, you stared at him until he sighed.

“I learned a little bit of Thai so that I could have conversations with the family who owns this place,” he admitted. “The woman who seated us is married to the head cook, and their nieces and nephews are the wait staff. It’s been a while since I’ve eaten here, and she was excited to see me.”

“Cute,” you said with a sly grin. “You would learn an entire language just to make an older woman happy.”

“She said she was a little sad to see me with a pretty young woman,” he added, quirking an eyebrow. “She’s been wanting me to marry into her family for almost a decade now.”

That shut you up. Ducking behind the menu, you ignored his amused laugh and hunted for the one Thai food that had gotten you through your final year at university. Once you saw it, you perked up, grinning when you met Dick’s eye.

“They have evil jungle curry,” you said. “Please tell me that theirs is good.”

“It’s very good,” he assured, smile softening at your excitement. “I’m guessing you like Thai food.”

“When I went to school in Boston, there was a little Thai place near my apartment. The gentleman who owned it gave me an insane discount when I ordered food there, so I had a diet of nothing but Thai food for a good nine months,” you said. “During my last semester there, I ate his evil jungle curry every day.”

“I’m glad I talked you out of the Ukrainian restaurant,” he said.

A pretty young woman came up to your table, a sweet smile on her face as she greeted you. Dick ordered with her in Thai, handing her your menus with a charming smile. Once she’d left, he turned back to you.

“I also ordered some spring rolls and a Thai coffee for each of us. I hope that’s okay,” he said.

Reaching across the table, you held your hand open to him. “I’ll let you be the one in charge just this once.”

Dick took your hand, eyes soft as he watched you. “I appreciate the trust.”

The evening melted away into pleasant, casual conversation. You both sipped at your coffee and enjoyed the food, although your own stomach didn’t find much relief from the ever so slight hunger gnawing at you. In the weeks since the rusalka had made a home in your body, you’d enjoyed food only for the taste, then turned to raw meat to sate your actual hunger. You would likely throw most of it up in a few hours, but it was worth it. Once you had both had your fill, Dick paid the bill with a generous tip and held your hand as he walked you back to the car.

But even as you basked in the glow of shared affection, you could not shake the feeling of being watched. A part of you remained on edge as he drove you to a grocery store to get the ingredients for your syrniki. His hand remained on some part of you the entire time, either holding one of yours, resting on the small of your back, or brushing hair back behind your ear and lingering on your cheek. With your groceries and some extra Keurig pods to tide you over, you left the store even deeper in the glow.

 _Something is wrong,_ the rusalka warned you. _Sweet one, we appreciate you are happy, but we can feel danger._

 _It’s fine,_ you sighed. _P_ _lease just let me have this moment._

 _…Very well._ The rusalka was displeased, but shrank back from your consciousness.

**65 hours remaining**

Propped up in bed with Dick sleeping soundly, his head resting on your stomach, you finally reached back out to the rusalka.

 _I’m sorry if I seemed dismissive earlier,_ you said, sending messages to the contacts in the Whisper Gang you’d had Tim whitelist for you. _I guess I just got caught up in the moment._

 _…We can only do so much to protect you if you do not listen to us,_ the rusalka finally answered, an unpleasant edge to their voice. _While we are glad that you are happy, we do not want you to risk this body._

 _If someone is following me,_ you said, _we can tackle that together tomorrow, okay? There are a lot of people who want me dead, but I trust Dick. If he said this penthouse is secure, then it’s secure._

 _That may very well be true,_ the rusalka growled, _but what about the places you go outside of here? We know that you have people you wish to speak to. Even one step out of this building could risk our security and—_

 _This is still my body._ You locked the phone, jaw clenched. _I know what I’m doing, and I’d hoped that you would trust me by now._

_We are also aware that you are blinded by love—_

_I’m not in love!_ Furious, you turned on them in your head. _Just because I’m happy and I’m attracted to him doesn’t mean—_

 _We apologize._ The rusalka sighed, curled tighter around you. _We are just frightened for your safety, sweet one. Please be careful._

 _I will._ You sighed. _… I’m sorry I got angry._

_We forgive you. Please enjoy this peace while it lasts._

With that last foreboding statement, the rusalka sank away from your reach. Sighing, you set your phone on the nightstand and closed your eyes.

For the first time in weeks, your nightmares returned to haunt you, the smell of burned flesh overwhelming you even in your sleep.

\---

Outside the high rise, a man in the shadows sent a message.

**Eyes on target. Instructions?**

**Eliminate at first opportunity. No witnesses.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dick: isn't she hot  
> tim: didn't she eat people?  
> dick: suddenly i can't read
> 
> wow this one is long. i actually had originally thought about splitting it into two chapters but fuck it. 
> 
> also, side note, listen to orville peck. maybe it's just me being a Good Texas Girl but goddamn his music is so fucking good (especially listen to the song that inspired this chapter title; big Dolly Parton vibes)
> 
> as always, thank you for reading!! stay safe and stay healthy. i love you all so much. 
> 
> p.s. i have a fic for tim in the works with a supernatural protagonist shhhhhhh


	14. Is Everybody Going Crazy?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: sexual content, oral sex (female receiving), kidnapping, non-explicit torture, non-explicit violence, major character death 
> 
> (this chapter is a ride, y'all)
> 
> _and in this wounded, sinister place  
>  we've only got each other  
> the sky is crashing down  
> i know it's strange  
> when heaven's a mindset away_

**58 hours remaining**

Cup of coffee on the counter in front of you, you carefully combined each ingredient for your syrniki in the mixing bowl. A cast iron pan was already heating up on the stove, the steady sound of you beating the ingredients together with a fork the only soundtrack to the silent apartment. You’d slept poorly, haunted by visions of your parents’ bodies. Even with Dick’s body curled against yours, you’d found little comfort in his touch that night. Still, you’d promised to make him your mother’s syrniki, and you weren’t about to break that promise. As you poured the first batch onto the hot pan, you heard the door to the bedroom open, ears straining to listen to every step as Dick made his way to you in the kitchen. You’d already prepared a cup of coffee for him, shoving it into the microwave to heat it up for him. When you heard him reach the kitchen, you turned, tired smile ready.

“Good morning,” you started, “I hope you—”

Dick’s lips crashed into yours, whatever else you were about to say melting into a moan as he pulled you into a passionate kiss. Pulling you flush against him, he cradled the back of your head as he licked into your mouth, swallowing each gasp that he pulled from your pliant, willing lips. You gave into him, surprised by the passion with which he’d greeted you so early in the morning. Backing up, your lower back pressed into the counter, your hands tangled in his hair as he rendered you breathless. Once rational thought returned to you, you managed to pull away, chest heaving.

“Dick… Dick, the syrniki are going to burn,” you panted, head tipping back as his lips trailed down to your neck. He sucked fresh marks into your skin, hips pressed against yours and hands clutching at you with a hunger you hadn’t expected. “Ah…”

The microwave let out an angry wail as it finished warming up his coffee, but even that didn’t seem to stop Dick. Your back arched as his lips trailed down to your collarbone, and he lifted you up onto the counter easily as his hands slipped under your shirt and trailed up towards your ribs. Truthfully, you were a little frightened by this sudden desire, even if you found yourself yielding to it willingly. You had no idea where it was coming from. Glancing at the pan on the stove, you tugged at his hair, tried to fight back against the lust that had suddenly flooded your veins.

“If these burn, I’m not feeding you,” you growled.

Finally, your words and actions began to sink in. Dick sighed, giving one last nip to the skin of your chest before he stepped back. You looked up at him in confusion, brow furrowed as he gingerly combed hair away from your face, tucked it behind your ears.

“Are you okay?” you asked, voice soft.

“I had a dream where I lost you,” he said. Grief was heavy in his voice. You noticed the slump to his shoulders, the way he kept a hand on your skin just to feel the warmth of it. “Then I saw you, cooking me breakfast, and I just…”

“It’s okay.” Still sitting up on the counter where he’d put you, you pressed a kiss to his temple, his cheek, his nose, then his lips, lingering only for a second. “I am here and I’m okay. And also if you don’t fall in love with me after eating this syrniki, then my mother lied to me.”

After a pause, he laughed, backing up to let you hop off the counter and flip the little pancakes. Once you determined that they were not ruined, you retrieve the mug from the microwave and pressed it into his hands.

“I also made you coffee,” you said. “And yes, I do keep a running count of what you owe me.”

“Koshka.” Dick stared down at the mug, then looked up at you. You could see the emotion in his eyes, the weight of it as he cupped your cheek. “I just… I want to tell you, I—”

“Please.” Your own smile was pained. You knew what he wanted to say, knew that at some level you could return it. But right here, right now, neither of you were ready for that. “Not right now. Not here. When we’re both ready…”

Dick sighed. You studied his face, but he only looked relieved. You’d prepared for hurt, for heartbreak, but were glad not to find it there. Although his smile was strained, he took a sip of his coffee and pressed a fleeting kiss to the tip of your nose.

“Did you sleep okay?” he asked, the hope in his voice breaking your heart. You knew you couldn’t lie to him.

“Not really,” you answered. “I had a nightmare about my parents again. But it’s okay. I’ve had them for years. Grab a plate, I think these are ready.”

Maneuvering the conversation away from your own lack of sleep, you smiled as he obeyed and held out a plate for you. Carefully placing each fully cooked syrniki from the pan, you nodded to the fridge.

“I’m not sure if you’ve had these before, but usually we eat them with some sour cream and jam. When I was a kid I always preferred mulberry, but I think I picked up raspberry last night,” you said.

Dick placed a lingering kiss against the nape of your neck before moving to the fridge. Returning your attention to the stove, you poured out another batch for yourself into the pan. Dimly, you recognized the sound of the drawer opening and closing, the soft sigh as he took his first sip of coffee for the morning. Then you focused solely on the food, turning them at just the right moment, taking sips of your coffee as you waited for them to finish. Setting the bowl you’d used to make the batter in the sink, you turned off the heat on the stove and pulled out another plate for yourself. By the time you’d plated the syrniki with sour cream and jam, Dick had finished his own breakfast.

While you leaned back against the counter and devoured your food, he watched you, sipping at his coffee. Once you had finished with a satisfied sigh, Dick took your plate, tossed it in the sink, and set aside both of your mugs. His eyes were still dark, hooded, full of something you couldn’t quite place but suspected was desire.

"First of all,” he said, “I’ve never had syrniki in my life, but I would cut off a limb to have that every day for the rest of my life.” When you smirked, smug and ready to interrupt, he held up a hand. “Let… let me finish. I recognize that what I want is probably driven by fear from my nightmares, but I just… I want you, Koshka. Whatever you’re willing to give me. I know this is probably moving too fast, but I just—”

You cut him off with a sweet kiss, tangling your fingers with his and hoping that he could see the deep understanding in your expression. How far you were willing to go, you weren’t certain. But if it gave him some peace of mind, you would push yourself as far as you could go.

“I want you, too,” you whispered. “I don’t know how far I can go, but I’m willing to give you what I can.”

Letting out a shaking sigh, Dick pressed his forehead to yours.

“Do we… um. Is there an audience?” he asked.

For a moment, you were confused. Then you realized that he meant the rusalka. Laughing, you shook your head.

“No,” you said. “They’re giving us some space.”

In fact, the rusalka had made a habit of retreating any time you kissed. It was sweet, a way to respect your privacy that you hadn’t expected. Dick smiled, pressing a brief kiss to your forehead before taking your hand and quietly leading you back down the hall. He led you past the bathroom, the guest room, to the door at the end of the hall. The master bedroom, of course. When he opened the door and flicked on the light, you blanched at the opulence before you. If you’d thought the bed in the guest room was large, this one had room for an entire party. A whole other hall likely led off to a bathroom the size of your home and a closet the size of your bedroom, but you did not get the chance to investigate. Instead, Dick sat down on the edge of the bed and let his hands creep under your shirt. Like the night before, you’d taken off your bra, but instead of sweat pants you’d gone with your own sleep sorts. As his fingers crept further and further up your ribs, you bit down the nerves rising up in you and pulled off your shirt.

Dick’s breath caught in his throat, pupils dilating as you stood half naked in front of him. Still caressing your sides, he leaned forward, pressing tender kisses on your stomach. You shivered and he paused, eyes flicking up to make sure you were still okay. When you nodded, he let his hands move up to your breasts. Unlike Soames, he was gentle. His large hands cradled you gently, squeezing so softly you weren’t even sure he’d done so. A gasp escaped you, your knees wobbling and threatening to give out. Attuned to every response of your body, Dick pulled you forward so that you were seated on his lap instead, arms resting on his shoulders as his kisses went from your belly to your sternum.

“Dick…” you moaned. You were embarrassed by your own voice, covered your face with your hands as his lips drifted over your skin.

“Tell me you feel good,” he whispered, kissing the skin just above your heart.

“I… I feel good.” You shuddered, let out a groan as his hands moved to your hips and ground you down against his growing erection. “Sh-shit…”

“Stop me when you need to,” he gasped, pupils blown as he moved his mouth to your breasts.

When he gave a tentative lick to your nipple you moaned. When he sucked it into his mouth, let one hand come up to cup your breast, you gasped out his name. Fueled by lust, Dick let his teeth scrape over the swollen bud, pulling it with his teeth before soothing it with his tongue.

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he rasped, voice dropping to an octave that had you arching into his touch. “I’ve wanted you. Wanted to touch you, to kiss you, to unravel you…”

Sucking harshly on your nipple, Dick watched your face as you bucked against him, wound your fingers into his hair. Just as the suction edged on the verge of pain he would back off, giving tentative licks and kisses, his hand roaming to your other breast and pinching that nipple. Once you’d relaxed into his touch, he bit the swollen flesh, rolled it between his teeth and made you moan. Laving his tongue over the bud in his mouth as he suckled, he watched your expression, read each twitch and gasp to render you breathless once more. Once he’d had his fill, he released your nipple with an obscene pop, sucking bruises into the underside of your breast, kissing across your ribs to the other.

“Fuck, Dick, I can’t…” You nearly sobbed as he lapped at your other nipple.

Once more, he gently kneaded the breast he’d just left, fingers molding the supple flesh. Your eyes rolled back in your head as he continued to tease your nipple with his tongue, waiting until you’d arched your back and ground down into him before he sucked it between those sinful lips. Tears pricking at the back of your eyes, your nails scraped against his scalp as he sucked harshly. His teeth grazed against the abused flesh before he sucked hard and pulled, letting go when you cried out. Saliva wet your skin, your chest heaving as he gently lowered you to the mattress and kissed down the curve of your ribs. Hands on your breasts, thumbs flicking your still sensitive nipples, he laved his tongue over the curve of your scales.

“Koshka…” he breathed, pupils blown as he watched you writhe beneath him. “That means cat, right?”

“Yes,” you moaned, pressed your hands over his.

“Mm.” He smiled, expression wicked as he slid his hands down, down, thumbs hooking under your shorts. “I want to eat you out. Are you okay with that, kitten?”

“Holy fuck.” You had to close your eyes, really absorb the situation. Only a few days ago you would have told any stranger that you hated this man’s guts. Now you were putty under him, aroused to a frankly disturbing degree under his skilled touch.

“Not really an answer,” he chuckled.

“Yes,” you blurted. “Holy shit, yes.”

“Good girl.” Smirking, he sat up and shoved your shorts and panties down to your ankles. You yelped, suddenly very conscious of the fact that you were naked in front of the most attractive man you’d ever met. His expression quickly melted into concern, movements halting as he scanned your face. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” You caught your breath, covered your face with your hands to hide your apocalyptic blush from him. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

Prying your hands away, he sat up so he could press his forehead to yours. Brow furrowed, Dick searched your expression before sitting back.

“All I want right now is to go down on you,” he said, voice tight. “Nothing more, okay? Once I’m done, I’ll be satisfied.”

Frankly, it was a bit hard to believe him. No man (or woman) you’d been with before had only wanted to satisfy you. There’d been the understanding that you would return the favor. But Dick seemed serious, his eyes dark as he watched your expression.

“Okay,” you agreed. “That’s… I can do that.”

Relief flooded Dick’s face, his hands cupping your face so that he could pepper kisses across your cheeks and lips until you were squirming and giggling in embarrassment. Pulling away, he slowly kissed his way back down to your ribs, pausing before he gave a tentative lick to the scales that stretched between the last of your ribs and your pelvis. You arched at the touch, eyes wide. Dick hummed, seemingly pleased before he bit down on a patch just above the jut of your hip bone. You moaned, scales and skin sensitive. Once he’d kissed his way down to your inner thighs, you found yourself embarrassed by just how wet you were. Just the sound of his voice could arouse you, if you were being honest. At any given moment, Dick Grayson could shove you into a room and you’d likely let him have his way with you. But he was gentle, settled between your legs with a soft sigh before he guided your legs to rest over his shoulders.

“If you want to stop,” Dick murmured, “just say the word.”

You nodded. Then he pressed his mouth to you and the world exploded.

Just the press of his lips to your center had you arching against him, gasping. The wet heat of his mouth felt pleasant but strange, his tongue flicking against your clit once, twice. Your fingers wound into his hair and your thighs clenched, eyes hooded as you watched him. When he slipped his tongue inside of you, you let out a choked moan and let your head fall back against the mattress. You wondered, briefly, if this was all happening too fast. If you should shove him away, wait for your fickle little heart to make a decision. But then he was eating you out like a starved man, nose brushing against your clit as his tongue speared inside of you in ways that had you shattering already. Closing your eyes, you bit back a sob as he moved back to your clit, sucked it into his mouth in a way that left you gasping for air.

Dick Grayson knew exactly what he was doing, had enough practice at pleasuring a woman that it left a bitter taste in your mouth. As he sucked and licked at you, scraped his teeth against your oversensitive clit, you couldn’t help but wonder. Wonder if this was a defense mechanism for him. If sex was a way for him to discard emotions, label them as nothing but lust. It broke your heart, your sob masked by a gasp as he drew you closer to the edge. There was a pressure at the base of your spine that you dismissed, trying to focus on the release he was driving you closer and closer to. Dick looked up at you, blue eyes flashing in the dim light of the room, and you let yourself cry. Just as the tears spilled down your cheeks, the skilled caress of his tongue against your clit had your orgasm crashing into you with a violence that stole your breath away. Your fingers curled into his hair, body curved towards him as you cried out. Your limbs shook, lungs gasping for air as you came down from your high.

God bless him, Dick continued to eat you out, lick up your slick until you tugged at his hair, whined from the oversensitivity. But there was no hiding the tears, the flush to your skin as you pressed your hands over your face and desperately tried to hide your shame. Tears continued to fall as he nuzzled against the scales on your inner thighs, caught his own breath. His thumbs rubbed soothing circles into your hip bones, but it only made you cry harder. Finally noticing that your tears were not just from how hard he’d made you cum, Dick look alarmed as he pried your hands away, sat up and pressed your hand over his racing heart.

“Kitten, baby, are you okay?” he asked, breathless. His mouth and chin were slick from you, chest heaving from his own desire. “Why are you crying?”

“I don’t know,” you sobbed. You were frustrated with yourself, frustrated with him, frustrated with everything. You wished everything could be easy, cut and dry and sorted into neat little boxes.

“I should have stopped, shouldn’t I?” Dick’s voice was soft. He wiped at his mouth and chin with the sheets, covered you with a blanket before he brushed hair from your sweat-slick face. “I’m sorry.”

“No!” you cried. Surging up, you pulled him to you, held him as tightly as you could. “No, no, no. Please, don’t be sorry. That’s the best orgasm I’ve had in my entire life.”

Dick chuckled, his arms coming around you. His cheek pressed against your chest, and you knew he was listening to your erratic heartbeat. “Well, it’s been a while since I’ve had a complaint.”

“I’m just…” You paused, tried to think through the best way to explain it to him. “I’m not used to being treated so… tenderly. The people I’ve slept with, we were all just a means to an end for each other.”

“You deserve to be treated tenderly,” he breathed. His fingers gripped hard at the sheets around you. “You deserve all of that and more.”

The two of you stayed like that for a while. You cradled him in your arms, watched him as his breathing slowed, lust melting into something else as he traced patterns into the base of your spine. Once your tears had dried up and he’d calmed himself down, Dick pulled away and looked at you. Really looked, as if his eyes could sink through your skin and down into the essence of what made you who you were. Then he leaned forward and kissed you, soft and slow and patient.

“One day I’ll tell you how I feel,” he whispered against your lips. “And until that day, I’ll do whatever I can to give you comfort.”

When he pulled you into his chest, you found yourself crying again. But this time, it was for him, his tender heart that you did not deserve to hold in your bloody hands.

**54 hours remaining**

One of your Whisper contacts had finally come through. After you’d showered and changed, you checked your phone and were surprised to see a message from him. It had been a while since he’d spoken to you, your last contact cut short after he’d been spooked. You stood in the kitchen, pondering the sudden turn of events.

 _This could be a trap,_ the rusalka said, their sudden presence startling you.

They’d been absent while you and Dick were… intimate, had continued to stay silent in the hours following. Dick had left not long after, taking a quick shower and giving you a quick kiss before he was out the door. He hadn’t even texted you to explain. Not that you cared, of course. He had his own problems to worry about.

 _You have become very good at lying to yourself._ There was no mistaking the disappointment in the rusalka’s tone. _We both know what you feel for the black bird._

 _Just because we… did stuff,_ you explained, embarrassed, _doesn’t mean that I can demand things of him. If he doesn’t want to explain things to me, he doesn’t have to._

 _Sweet girl,_ they sighed. _Please do us both a favor and tell him how you feel the next time you see him. If we have to continue to be assaulted by your emotional turmoil, it will drive us insane._

  1. Well. That was embarrassing. _I’m sorry. I didn’t even think that you’d be a part of… well, the whole mess that is me and my disaster of a mind._



_We are one now._ The rusalka let themselves bleed into you, raising your hand in front of your face. _We are you, you are us. Whatever you feel, we feel. We have just remained… quiet on many things._

 _Oh my god._ You buried your face in your hands. Every little dirty thought you’d had, they were there. Every emotion, every thought, every feeling. It was sobering, to tell the truth. _Just… let me take care of this. I have a feeling about this contact. I don’t know if it’s good or bad, but either way—_

 _You have a safety net now,_ the rusalka finished for you. _If you are going to meet with this informant, at least tell one of the others._

 _Yeah, yeah._ You sighed, pulling your phone back out.

Sending a quick text to Tim, Bruce, and Barbara to let them know that you were meeting an informant, you turned off your phone and grabbed your backpack before leaving the penthouse.

**50 hours remaining**

After several frustrating rides on Gotham’s subway, you finally ended up at the bar your informant had asked you to meet him at. You’d been waiting for hours, stubbornly ordering only water until you finally gave in and asked the bartender for a Moscow mule. Frowning down at the drink, you twirled the sprig of mint they’d garnished it with and wondered if you’d been stood up. It wouldn’t be the first time. Many informants and sources chickened out at the last second. You couldn’t really hold it against them, but it was still frustrating to waste so much of your time on someone who wasn’t even going to show. Just as you were about to give up on your informant showing up, picking up your drink for a sip, someone slid into the seat next to you.

“Sorry I’m late.” You glanced over and felt your shoulders sag in relief. Ivan was as stoic as ever, flagging down the bartender and ordering the same as you before finally turning to you. “Things… came up.”

“I understand.” Lips curling into a smile, you sipped at the drink, relishing the bite of ginger and lime before setting it back down. “Thanks for coming through. Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” Sighing, he nodded at the bartender as they slid over his glass before practically downing the drink. “Things have been a little intense lately.”

Reaching into your pocket and flipping on your recorder, you mentally apologized to the clearly stressed man beside you. But at this point, you couldn’t afford to let any lead slip through you fingers. “Intense how?”

Ivan gave you a considering look. He was about your age, average looking other than the brutal scar at the back of his neck that marked him as a part of Whisper. Once, you may have considered him attractive. He shook his head and sighed, running a hand through his shaggy blond hair.

“Honestly, I’m not sure if I’m comfortable sharing any of this with you,” he admitted.

“Have another drink, then,” you said. When he shot you a glare, you shrugged. “What? It’s gotten you to spill things before. You know that I’ll never let anything lead back to you.”

“That may have been the case before,” he whispered, leaning close. “But then you messed with the Malina. If I’m being real with you, Koshka, just meeting with you could get me killed.”

“More reason to drink then.” You flagged down the bartender, ordering him another drink and ignoring the glare he shot you. “Seriously, Ivan. No one will know about this.”

“Everyone will know.” He paused before finishing his first drink and chugging the second. You almost winced, giving your own a very conservative sip. “There are people watching you. Even here in Gotham.”

“I highly doubt that.” You rolled your eyes. All of your enemies were still back in Bludhaven. Plus, if people really were watching you, they’d likely back off knowing that you were backed by the most powerful man in the city. “You said you had information, Ivan. Don’t waste my time. Tell me what you know.”

Ivan really looked at you then, his tired brown eyes holding some emotion you couldn’t quite place. Then he sighed, turning away from you.

“All I know is that they’re here,” he said. “I’m so sorry. But you have to understand. It was your life or mine.”

Just as you were about to ask what the hell he meant, the rusalka screamed. Hands closed around your wrists, dragging you off your stool. As you turned, started to scream, someone else pressed you back against their chest, sweet-smelling cloth pressed over your mouth and nose.

Before the world faded away, you could have sworn you saw Ivan bury his face in his hands and sob.

**48 hours remaining**

When you came to, your senses were immediately bombarded by the stench of the sewers. Swearing, you tried to cover your face, but found that your hands were cuffed behind you. Your ankles were similarly bound and rope had been tied tight around your lower back, no doubt in an attempt to bind your extra limbs. Your cheek was pressed against cold concrete, eyes fuzzy as you opened them. When you groaned, you heard two sets of feet shuffle towards you.

“Ah, looks like she’s finally awake.” When you raised your head, you found yourself staring at none other than Tiger Shark. He smiled, forked tongue flicking out. “You did much better than I expected, sweetheart. I’d expected you to hold out much longer before I could get my hands on you.”

“Where’s Ivan?” you ground out, throat dry and rasping.

“Oh, he’s been compensated well for betraying you,” he said. Crouching down, he tilted his head. You scowled at him. “Worried about your Judas?”

“No, just curious why no one’s told you how fucking tacky you look,” you spat.

Tiger Shark only smiled at that. Standing back up, he let out a pleased sigh.

“You know, when you first stumbled onto our little operation, I’d thought that your brother shooting you would have been enough to take care of you.” He paced in front of you, hands gesturing. “Then you came right back and started writing stories about us. So he drew out your guard dog. Then you killed one of my loyal dogs on the Bludhaven police force and made a fool of your brother yet again. And, you see, I’m not a very forgiving person.”

You didn’t say anything, laid still against the fetid ground and waited for him to continue his stupid villain speech.

“Honestly, I have to applaud you for punishing him for me. Cutting off his hand was a stroke of genius I hadn’t even thought of.” Tiger Shark chuckled at his pun while you hissed at him. “But I’m getting off track. See, your brother wanted to take care of your little guard dog to prove himself. And I, being the benevolent person I am, gave him 72 hours for it. But god, it only took you 24 hours to throw yourself into my arms.”

He laughed. You heard someone move behind you, skin crawling. But you couldn’t crane your head back far enough to see them. Instead, you had to entertain Tiger Shark’s posturing.

“But that makes my chosen assassin for you quite happy.” Crouching down, he tipped your head up, thumb brushing over your chin. When you tried to bite him, he slammed your head back onto the concrete, grip tight around your throat. You gasped for air as he bent closer. “Tell me, little cat, have you heard of Victor Zsasz?”

Terror instantly gripped you. Ice filled your veins. Even as Tiger Shark let go of your throat and you gasped for air, you skin crawled at the name. Although you were mostly ignorant of what went on in Gotham, everyone had heard of Zsasz. The man was feared by both children and adults, always lurking in the shadows and menacing the people of New Jersey with each escape from Arkham.

“Ah, I see you have!” Tiger Shark seemed delighted by the fear in your eyes, standing up straight once more. “Well, then, you have some idea of just how long he can prolong your suffering before letting you die.”

Finally, dreadfully, the second person stepped around you. Your eyes took in the scars littering his skin before you finally looked into the dead, terribly eyes of Victor Zsasz. You whimpered, terror seeping into your bones and making you shiver and thrash against your restraints. Neither man seemed at all bothered. Tiger Shark clapped a hand on Zsasz’s shoulder before slowly backing into the shadows.

“Have fun, friend,” he said, tone light. “Make sure you send me her body once you’re done so her brother can finish off the detective.”

Eyes wide and heart pounding, you watched with growing horror as Zsasz drew a knife, those dead eyes lighting with manic delight as his fingers smoothed over the bare skin of your legs.

“Please get comfortable, Ms. Koshka,” he said, voice smooth as velvet as the blade rested just above your ankle. “I think we’re going to get to know each other very well.”

As he carved the first cut into your skin, your screams echoed in the hollow, empty tunnels of Gotham’s sewer.

**45 hours remaining**

“So you’re saying you have no idea who she was supposed to meet up with?” Dick demanded.

“No,” Tim said, growing more and more frustrated. Both of them had taken to Gotham’s rooftops when Koshka had gone radio silent to try to find her. “She’s not exactly open about most things, dude.”

“She’s a good journalist,” he shot back, flipping off the edge of a roof and landing in a smooth crouch on the opposite building. “If she just said ‘oh yeah, I’m meeting Dude Duderson at this place’ none of her anonymous sources would trust her.”

“Or maybe she’s just tightlipped,” Tim grumbled. He landed next to Dick, opening his phone to the GPS signal on Koshka’s charm bracelet once more. “Look, I’m not criticizing your girlfriend, okay?”

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Dick bristled, glaring at his brother.

Tim sighed, rubbing at his temples. “Fine. I’m not criticizing the girl that you’re fucking and who you also just so happened to bring to meet your father figure.”

Dick only grew angrier, briefly considering punching Tim. Instead, he shoved that anger down where the rest of his rage went, bottled up tightly. In his family, he couldn’t afford to be the angry one. Instead, he held out a hand.

“Give me the phone,” he snarled. “And stop judging me.”

“I’m not judging you.” Handing over the phone, Tim adjusted the cape of his Red Robin suit. “You clearly care about her. But she’s also, like, fucking terrifying.”

“Sounds like a personal problem,” Dick mumbled. He studied the map again, tapping a finger against the HUD on his mask to confirm that the coordinates were the same. “Hey, what’s this building supposed to be?”

“This one?” Tim took back his phone when Dick offered it, tucking it into his belt. “Not sure, it was abandoned years ago.”

“Okay.” Dick sighed, lack of sleep and stress over what the hell Koshka was doing wearing him out. “You take street level, see if there’s any sewer entrances and work your way up. I’ll start from the top and work my way down.”

“Copy that.” Pausing, Tim gave Dick a quick one-armed hug before letting his cape billow behind him, make-shift wings spreading as he soared down to the alley below.

“Please be okay,” Dick whispered to himself. “Please.”

Taking a deep breath, he carefully hung over the edge of the roof and kicked in a window to vault into the top floor of the building. As he searched through the wreckage, he let his mind wander. The moment they’d had in the morning had been amazing. Sure, he’d been painfully hard, but watching her face, feeling her come undone… Dick shook his head. Forcing himself to think of more innocent things, he pondered the moment when she’d stopped him from admitting his feelings. Had she really wanted him to wait, or was she just letting him down easy? He wasn’t sure, wanted her in his arms again so he could see her melt all over again. Surely he wasn’t just fooling himself. The way she softened around him had to mean something. And she had told him that she’d been falling for him that night when she’d stitched his wound. That had to mean something, right?

“Nightwing?” Tim’s voice crackled over the shared comms.

“Copy, Red Robin,” he said. “What’s up?”

There was a pause. When Tim spoke again, dread curled in his stomach.

“I found something in the sewers.”

When he made his way down the building, threw himself down the manhole to meet up with Tim, he knew whatever he was going to see was bad. But, somehow, it was worse than he thought.

Turning when he heard him, Tim looked at Dick with a pity that made him sick to his stomach.

In his hands, he held a bloody batch of pearlescent scales and the charm bracelet.

**42 hours remaining**

Your consciousness bled in and out. Pain was your only constant, blood always smearing your hands, the ground of wherever it was you were. Zsasz was taking his time with you. Dully, you wondered if he’d left a trail.

As he made another cut, you wondered if you’d ever get the chance to tell Dick how you felt.

**36 hours remaining**

Bruce Wayne sat in the Gotham sewers, wondering what exactly they’d gotten themselves into. Dick had come to him hours earlier, eyes wild as he waved the bracelet in his face and demanded that he come out, right fucking now. When Tim had quietly showed him the bloody scales, face pale, he’d finally agreed. Not wanting Dick to see… the potential aftermath, he’d ordered him to stay in the cave. Alfred had intercepted, given him some calming tea and distracted him as Bruce suited up and left the cave with Tim. Barbara had come too, somewhere ahead of him and trying very hard not to let both of them see how distraught she was by the whole thing.

“Lost the trail,” he reported over comms. His scanner had stopped picking up on the blood at some point. Frustrated, he pinched the bridge of his nose, took even, measured breaths. “Either of you see anything?”

“Picked up a trail,” Barbara said. He heard a sharp intake of breath. “And… I found something.”

Without a word, he and Tim converged on her location. When they both got there, she wordlessly opened a hand to show them another handful of scales. Same pearlescent sheen, similarly bloodied.

“God,” Tim breathed. “I hope—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Barbara snapped. Taking a deep breath, she let both of them take samples of the blood before shoving the scales in a pouch at her belt. “We’re going to find her, alive and well.”

Uneasy silence fell between the three of them as they followed the trail of blood out of Gotham. Although he wouldn’t admit it, Bruce was afraid that a body waited them at the end of their search.

**32 hours remaining**

You had no idea where your tears began and your blood ended. The rusalka had been screaming for hours, wordless and primal.

You were beginning to think you were losing your mind to the pain.

To the soundtrack of ancient screams, Zsasz made another cut.

**24 hours remaining**

Jason and Damian had joined the search. Although Jason’s girlfriend had offered to come, he’d managed to convince her to stay home. As he’d told Bruce when he joined them halfway to Bludhaven, he didn’t want her to see what they found at the end of it all. Damian had insisted that he was only doing it because he was bored, although they all knew that he’d grown fond of the woman through their mutual hatred of each other. Tim had tapped out, offered to go back to the cave to check in on Dick and make sure he wasn’t driving himself insane.

Barbara stayed. She had to see it through to the end.

The four of them were silent as they continued their search. Minutes stretched into hours, the occasional patch of scales giving them enough fresh blood to refresh their tracking systems. Jason had joked that Barbra had enough at this point for an entire fish. The punch he got in the jaw was deserved.

Finally, Bruce came to the end of the tunnel. Fresh blood dripped from the surface and his blood ran cold. Tapping on his comms, he quietly asked the others to meet at his location. All three of them climbed up, dread building with each step.

Barbara saw her first, pale hand hanging out of a tarp on the wharf. When Jason pulled it off of her, neither he, Bruce, or Damian made a move to silence Barbara’s screams.

**18 hours remaining**

_We failed you, our sweet girl._

_No. It’s okay. I failed both of us._

_We should have fought back. We should have found some way to break free._

_Please don’t blame yourself. You’ve done so much for me._

_No. We have only done the minimum. But we will ensure that you live through this. We… We have enjoyed sharing this body with you, our treasured girl. Our sweet daughter, blood of our blood. But it is time we give ourselves to you and let you have control once more. Know that we love you. We love you in a way that is sacred and cannot ever be broken._

_What are you saying? Please, rusalka—_

_Our name was Katya. We also originated from Odesa, as you did. We have cherished our time with you. Please do not waste this blessing we bestow on you._

_No, no, please—_

_Tell the black bird how you feel before it is too late._

_Katya…_

_We love you, Mila Koshka. Do not waste the gift we give you. When you wake, we will give you all of the knowledge we have. You will be us. We trust that you will honor this gift and keep it locked in your heart._

_I love you too, Katya._

_Treasure yourself, Mila. Treasure yourself as the black bird treasures you. With our gift, endless paths will open before you. Take care to choose the correct one. We will not be here to guide you any longer._

_I… thank you. I’m sorry you were treated like a curse._

_It is okay, dear girl. Take our love and live._

_I will. I will…_

_Ти дочка, яку ми бажали, але ніколи не могла. Бережіть і любите так, ніби від цього залежить ваше життя._

**18 hours remaining**

As Barbara cradled your bleeding and broken body, tears streaming down her face and screams ripping through the night, your heart started again.

You gasped, sucking in deep breaths, tears streaming down your cheeks as the four vigilantes marveled over your miraculous survival. Batman, clearly Bruce Wayne, carried you and called for help, and you wept for the ancient being who sacrificed themselves.

You wept for the creature who had loved you like a mother and left you cold and alone, thoughts vacant and soul shattered once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rusalka/katya: You are the daughter we wished for but could never have. Take care, and love as if your life depends on it.
> 
> mila: koshka's first name. a diminutive of slavic names containing the element "milu" meaning gracious/dear
> 
> hi..... please don't hate me for this. i had this "death" planned from chapter one and honestly it kinda tore me apart to write this. i know this chapter has some SERIOUS whiplash but splitting it into different parts really just didn't work. also i feel like i went into a fugue state and just like, pounded this out in a few hours. yet somehow it's my favorite chapter in this whole fic. the mind is weird, folks.
> 
> also i pounded out this chapter while listening to Nothing But Thieves. if you aren't already a fan of theirs, you should be.
> 
> as always, thank you for reading. i love you all. stay safe, stay healthy.


	15. Forever and Ever More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: description of injuries, very mild body horror
> 
> _what did you think when you made me this way?  
>  what did you think when you loved me this way?  
> hold me so close when we get to the gates  
> we'll be together forever and ever and more_

**??? hours remaining**

The only thing you knew was rage. Hot, seething, choking you, turning the world red. Reality bled away as you let it take hold of you. Once the pain ended, once your grief came to an end, you would submit to the rage.

Floating in a red haze, you dreamed of the waters turning crimson with blood.

**16 hours remaining**

While you retreated into your own mind, Dick Grayson watched as Bruce Wayne lowered you into a tank they had prepared for you. After witnessing your accelerated healing in the tub, Dick hoped that submerging you would heal you now. When his family had returned to the cave, Bruce carrying your bloodied, trembling body, he’d almost collapsed. You were alive, but he wasn’t sure how. Large patches of the scales that had grown on your skin had been sliced off, deep gashes in neat lines on your limbs and torso.

Dick had a good idea who had done this to you. Jason had already quietly promised he’d take care of it for him.

Your body sank slowly in the tank, blood rising to the surface. Holding his breath, Dick watched gills appear on the sides of your neck. Some were damaged from the vicious wound that stretched from one side of your throat to the other.

“I don’t know how she survived,” Barbara whispered. “When we found her, she was so cold. I couldn’t feel her breathing, but then she was. Dick, her throat was slit but she came back.”

“All that matters is that she’s here and she’s alive.” Dick almost winced at how lifeless his voice sounded. “Once she wakes up, we can figure out what happened.”

Bruce stepped around to stand next to Dick. His arms were folded tightly across his chest, face stoic as he watched you float limply in the water. Slowly, ever so slowly, the blood flow stopped. Before their eyes, your wounds began to close. Skin and flesh knitted back together, red scales pushing through to the surface. Once the process had finished, you were more heavily scaled than you’d been before. Webbing grew between your fingers and toes, slithering limbs bursting from the base of your spine and pushing against the sides of the tank. Then they curled around your body, pulsing softly.

Breathing a sigh of relief as the others watched in muted horror, Dick pressed a hand to the cool glass.

“Now,” he said, “all we have to do is wait.”

**??? hours remaining**

Delving deep into your mind, you tried to find any trace of the rusalka that you could. A rush of memories came to you, crashing into you like a wave.

_A hand holding yours, ring glinting in the dim light. A crooked smile that you loved, rough fingers and palms that touched your skin reverently. Soft silk and delicate lace, wedding bells and raucous cheers._

_Reflection on the water, dark hair and dark eyes and skin pale as moonlight. Salty tears, bruises on your skin. A man turned to a monster, kindness turned to hatred. A home that had become a prison. Shattered heart, no room left for anger._

_The hands that you had once loved gripping the back of your neck, holding you down under the water. Screams filling your lungs with the sea instead of air. Fingers scrabbling for anything to hold onto, slipping on rocks and clawing at the hands holding you down. That delicate white silk and lace waterlogged, dragging you down, down, into the depths._

_Nightmare hands cradling you gently as you drowned, glowing eyes watching and waiting as life slipped away. Then cold lips pressed over your own, a gift born of the gods of the sea. Scales replacing skin, claws replacing fingers, slippery limbs that burst from your skin and let you drag down any man foolish enough to be lured by your song._

_An endless parade of screams, hot blood in your mouth as you feasted. Bones that lay at the bottom of the sea, flesh stuck between your teeth. The soft brush of fish against you, recognizing you as a fellow creature of the depths. Seaweed tangling in your hair, coral studded braids. The unstoppable march of time, passing you by._

_A ship, barnacled wooden bottom that you clung to. New waters, cold and strange and home to alien things you had never seen before. Evil in this place, soaking into the veins of the people who made it their new home. Blood, more and more blood in the water, foul and reeking. No more food, none that didn’t taste rotten. A slow descent into something else, a presence and not a form._

_A young woman, so much like you, plunging into the depths. Blood streaming from terrible wounds, fingers grasping for something, anything to anchor her to life. A desperate hunger to live, rage sweet on her blood. Your being melting into hers, trying to take over and failing. Then the soft brush of her soul against your own, a sudden knowledge of who she was._

_Hello, Koshka. Hello, little one._

**12 hours remaining**

Dick did not sleep. He waved off Alfred and Bruce and Barbara when they tried to get him to leave the cave. When you woke up, he wanted to be there. Surely this whole thing was temporary. A magical healing coma or something. When he’d tried to call Constantine, he was unsurprised to find the number no longer working. The man constantly seemed to be running from something, near impossible to contact. It didn’t matter. There probably wasn’t much he could do for you, anyways.

At some point the limbs had moved up to obscure your face, still pulsing in a hypnotic rhythm. It was frustrating, not being able to see what was happening to you. But, of course, he was helpless to stop it. All he could do was watch.

With infinite patience and a bleeding, broken heart, Dick Grayson quietly watched and waited for you to wake up.

**??? hours remaining**

Although the rusalka, Katya, was no longer a voice in your head, a presence in your soul, you were having a hard time separating what memories were hers and which were yours. The face of the man she loved bled into the one you were falling for, nightmares that you inherently understood were not reality.

The black bird would never hurt you, not like that.

You sorted through each memory, placed them in neat categories. Those were Katya’s parents, not your own. That was your brother, not hers. Those were men that you had killed, these were the ones she had. Your body count did not even scratch the surface of her own, hundreds of years spent dragging men to their doom. Even with the rage coloring your thoughts, you weren’t sure you wanted to have the same legacy. While you would rip and tear into the men who had done this to you, had forced Katya to sacrifice herself, you didn’t think that you had the heart of a monster.

Perhaps you remained too human for your own good.

With endless patience and bottomless rage, you pieced your psyche back together again and waited for the right time to surface.

**8 hours remaining**

It was with a great amount of difficulty and some threatening that Barbara Gordon finally convinced Dick to at least go sleep on the cot in the corner of the cave. Of course, he’d only agreed with the stipulation that she watched you while he slept. Just a power nap, he’d said. Once his head hit the pillow, though, he’d fallen into a deep sleep.

Barbara was exhausted, too. What little sleep she had gotten was filled with images of your bloody body, wet gasps as you breathed, the slick appendages that had burst forth from your skin. She shuddered as she watched them continue to pulse around you. While she could separate the nightmare visions from the reality of who you were, it still grossed her out a little. She wondered if you would still look like yourself when you woke up, or if you were becoming something else.

Dinah had been annoyed when she’d cancelled their date, but had ultimately understood. She’d even offered to keep Babs company, but she’d turned her down. While Barbara considered you a friend, she didn’t want to risk whatever you were when you emerged hurting Dinah.

Fiddling around on her phone, she sighed and glanced up at the tank before pausing. Something seemed different. The dark tentacles had stopped pulsing, but the scales seemed to be moving. Setting her phone down, she approached the tank, adjusting her glasses. No, the scales weren’t moving. Their colors were shifting, morphing between a deep wine red and a pale pastel that almost looked pink. Abruptly the shifting stopped, mottled colors reflecting dim light from the monitors. Then something moved inside of them.

“Dick!” Barbara screamed, turning away from the tank and running over to him. He grunted when she shook him. She felt bad waking him up after he’d only gotten a handful of hours of sleep, but she also knew he’d want to be awake for this. “Dick, I think she’s waking up!”

“What?” he mumbled, eyes clouded with sleep as he slowly sat up.

“She’s waking up,” Barbara said, bending down to look him in the eye. “Dick, Koshka moved.”

That woke him up. Fog clearing from his eyes, Dick jumped out of the cot and ran over to the tank, palms pressed against it. Barbara joined him, heart in her throat as the slithering limbs slowly began to loosen from your body.

“Come on,” he breathed, voice pained. “Come on, come on…”

One of the tentacles lashed out at the glass, making them both jump. Barbara backed up when she saw the hairline fracture that slowly spread. Tugging Dick back with her, she flinched when the tentacle slammed harder against the glass. Again and again it lashed out until, finally, the tank gave out. Glass splintered and shattered, water rushing out and soaking them. Dick pushed her behind him, approached the writhing figure with caution. Glass littered the floor, sparkling in the light. Slowly, the tentacles shrank away and you stood.

Mottled shades of red scales covered a good portion of your skin, shining like little jewels in the light. Little slits had appeared at the base of your spine, no doubt where your extra limbs could slither in and out with ease. Dark hair plastered to your face and neck, just a few inches longer than it had been, almost brushing your shoulders. What remained of your clothes was shredded and waterlogged, moonlight pale skin and scales revealed. When you looked up at them, the first thing Barbara noticed was that your eyes were a shining gold now, no trace of the warm brown left. Red markings, not scales but also not bruising, blotted the skin around your eyes. When you smiled, your teeth were razor sharp. The webbing between your fingers and toes sank back into your skin, but the scales did not.

“Koshka?” Dick asked, cautious.

“Hi,” you said, a melodic lilt to your voice that hadn’t been there before, “hope you weren’t waiting too long.”

Barbara burst into tears, shoving past Dick and bundling your small, shivering body in a tight hug. You laughed, pressed your wet face into her neck and wrapped your arms around her. “We were so scared,” she whispered, “so scared that you wouldn’t wake up, or that you wouldn’t be you.”

“I’m still me,” you murmured. “A little different, but still me.”

After getting her fill of holding you, Barbara stepped back and watched as your gaze moved to Dick. Eyes bright, you cocked your head to the side and let your smile slip into something a bit more tender.

“What,” you said, “no hug for me, Grayson?”

Breath coming out in a choked laugh, he stepped carefully over shattered glass to approach her. The look in his eyes told Barbara that she needed to turn away, give you some privacy. As she pulled her phone back out, let Dinah know that their date was back on, he grazed his knuckles over your cheekbone.

You smiled up at him, the rest of the world melting away as he let his fingers graze over skin and scales, his eyes swimming with something soft and tender and just for you. He finally let his hand rest on your jaw before he leaned down and kissed you. Careful not to let your sharp new teeth pierce the tender flesh of his lips, you kissed him back, poured everything you couldn’t say into it. Shivering, you pressed into him, rested your cheek on his chest when he broke the kiss and wrapped his arms around you. You closed your eyes, counted each beat of his heart.

Through the haze of rage and pain, just for one fleeting moment, you let love bleed in.

**7 hours remaining**

The picture Victor Zsasz had taken to prove his kill stared back at Anatoli Orlov. Tiger Shark had given it to him, cruel smile only growing as he watched color bleed from Anatoli’s face. A reminder not to let him down, the man had said before leaving. A reminder of what could happen to him, no doubt. Tiger Shark never got his own hands dirty, took a vicious glee in letting the monsters he’d leashed do the job for him. Fingers clutching at his bandaged wrist, Anatoli looked over the photo once more.

His sister’s eyes stared up at him, wide with fear, unfocused as the life left them. Her mouth hung open in what had likely been a scream. The slash across her throat, deep and precise, was almost as wide as the silent scream. Blood had soaked into her hair, dyed the dark strands wine red. Color had left her skin, blood streaking what Zsasz hadn’t sliced. He remembered the way she used to freckle and tan in the summer when they were children, long days spent walking the beaches and coming home with their hair crusted with salt. Even with their age gap, they’d had fun while he’d been with her.

Jaw clenched, he crumpled the glossy paper and threw it across the room. Years ago, he’d resolved himself to killing her. Weeks ago, he had succeeded. But seeing her death made it painfully real. What remained of his past was finally dead and gone. The thieves code had finally been honored, all ties to his past life gone.

Sitting alone in his large, empty home, Anatoli buried his face in the stump where his hand had been and let himself cry for his baby sister.

When the tears dried up, when he banished the grief and killed the last vestiges that remained of the boy he had been, Anatoli Orlov picked himself up. Knife strapped to his hip, he left his home for the last time, got in his car, and prepared himself to kill Richard Grayson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a short update after my last two monsters. phew. this fic is probably going to wrap up after just a few more chapters, but i don't have an idea yet of just how many there will be. maybe three or four more? not entirely certain. i'm trying to get some work done on another project, so the next update may be a little slower than these last few.
> 
> thank you as always for reading! i love you all. stay safe, stay healthy.
> 
> (p.s. if you haven't watched The Lure, you should. it influenced some of this fic and also it's a polish horror musical and it's wild as hell.


	16. Simmer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: character death, violence
> 
> _rage is a quiet thing  
>  you think that you've tamed it  
> but it's just lying in wait_

**6 hours remaining**

Freshly showered and comfortably snuggled into shorts and one of Dick’s hoodies, you sat on the floor of the cave and frantically sorted through your texts and email for updates. As far as anyone outside of Dick’s family was concerned, you had been murdered. Pictures had been sent to all of your editors as well as Law, a story had been released on your murder, and after the press release all of your contacts had gone radio silent. You hadn’t responded to any of the messages, had let the situation sink in as Alfred Pennyworth set a mug of tea down in front of you.

“Oh!” Startled, you looked up at him and locked your phone. “I’m sorry, you didn’t have to…”

“My duty is to take care of anyone within this estate,” Pennyworth said, face stoic. “Master Dick let me know that you like lemon ginger teas.”

Flushing, you let your fingers curl around the mug, took a deep breath and let the comforting spicy scent of ginger wash over you. Smiling, you glanced back up at him.

“Thank you,” you said.

Although most of your short time around him had been spent unconscious and in a monstrous form, Pennyworth still gave you an answering smile. “You’re welcome. I’ll let Master Dick and Master Bruce know that you’ve caught up with the news.”

Watching Alfred Pennyworth scale the stairs back up to the Wayne Estate, you understood why Dick had spoken of him with a fondness usually reserved for parents and close family members. Taking a sip of tea, you hummed. Later, when all of this was over, you would have to thank Dick for remembering what your favorite tea was. While you were reviewing everything that had happened while you were gone, you’d also figured out the time window that you now had to stop Anatoli. Within the next 6 hours, you either needed to put him out of commission or watch as Bludhaven was taken over by Tiger Shark. As much as you hated the Malina, you hated Tiger Shark more since he had, you know, _had you murdered_.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Dick asked, sitting down next to you with his own cup of tea. The poor man looked exhausted. Once this was over, you were going to make sure he got some proper sleep.

“Just catching up on the news of my murder,” you said. “Pretty sure I narrowed down the window for Anatoli’s next move, too.”

“How long do we have?” Dick asked.

“About six hours, give or take. Tiger Shark said I’d come to him within 24 hours, so with the time that’s passed…” With a thoughtful hum, you took another sip of tea. “Yeah, six hours.”

“Any ideas where he could be?”

“Considering that I was taken outside of Gotham and dumped just outside of Bludhaven, I think it’s fair to say that they’re trying to get you out of the city.” You shrugged. “I’m sure you’ve already figured that out.”

“I have,” he admitted, resting his head on your shoulder. “But I wanted to know what you thought, too.”

Humming, you rested your head on his. You knew that this moment of peace was something to be cherished. Most of the paths Dick would have to take would likely lead to more violence, more trouble for everyone involved. And, of course, you had to be careful about your own approach to the situation. How were you supposed to help if you were dead? You had decided that the best approach was to let yourself remain dead, if only to make sure no one else came after you. Dick did not have the same luxury.

“I don’t want you going out there by yourself,” you mumbled. “I trust that you can keep yourself safe, but I just… don’t want to have to be waiting on the sidelines, unable to guarantee you’ll be okay.”

“You know it’s best for you to stay here for right now.” Dick sighed, although you both knew he had anticipated this argument. “Just a few hours ago you died, went into a comatose state, and then came back to life. You’re still trying to sort out what you are. It’s best if you stay safe and recover mentally and emotionally as well as physically.”

“How am I supposed to recover emotionally if you are out there in danger and I can’t protect you?” you asked. “Now isn’t the time to coddle me and play knight in shining armor, Grayson. I’m stronger and faster than you. And we both know Anatoli is, too. I’ll stay out of sight and only come out if you need me. But having me out there balances this back in your favor. He won’t play fair, and neither should you.”

“I think she raises a fair point.” You looked up, saw Bruce Wayne standing just a short distance away. “It never hurts to have a backup plan, Dick.”

Since you’d woken up, Wayne had watched you… differently. Perhaps it was because Dick was so physically affectionate with you, or perhaps it was because he had watched your slow transformation into something more than human. But every time he focused his attention on you, his guarded expression turned appraising. The man was trying to decide what he thought of you, and you hoped he settled on something positive. You were uncertain why he was taking your side in this.

“Then I can call up Jason and Tim and have them as back up,” Dick said, straightening. “Three on one are good odds, no matter how strong or smart or fast this guy is.”

“Jason is taking care of Zsasz,” Wayne pointed out, “and Tim has been up for almost 72 hours straight. He needs his sleep too. And before you ask me to get involved, I’m the one who’s been fielding calls from the Bludhaven police department asking where the hell you are and why you seemingly let the person you were supposed to be protecting get killed. All of us have our hands full.”

Still not certain why he was siding with you, you tried to read his expression for any sort of tell. Instead, he simply met your gaze with steely eyes and quirked an eyebrow. Refusing to look away, you smiled and flashed your sharp teeth at him. He, much to your annoyance, did not even blink.

“I’m your best chance at getting out of this uninjured and with minimal cleanup,” you said. You let your gaze drift back to Dick, who’d been watching your exchange with Wayne with a puzzled expression. “Once you leave this estate, Anatoli will be tracking you. Lure him to an abandoned pier and I can make sure that nothing happens to you while still being hidden.”

“I don’t think I like it when you two agree on something,” Dick said with a heavy sigh.

“I just think that Koshka has the right plan,” Bruce said, shrugging. “If you truly think you have a better idea, then I’m not going to stop you. You’re your own person, Dick. But I can still point out a good idea when I hear it.”

Smug, you watched with very little guilt as Dick ran his hands over his face and his shoulders slumped. You could already tell that he was going to relent. As much as he wanted to protect you, you also knew that there was very little he could do to stop you if you decided to do something. Frankly, none of the people in the estate could. So when he stood up and frowned down at you, you knew that you had won with Bruce’s help.

“Fine,” Dick said. “But you stay out of the way and out of sight unless it is absolutely necessary. And you will follow my plan that I come up with. No arguments.”

“Okay,” you chirped. It was a lie, but at least it was a comforting one. You suspected that your definition of ‘necessary’ and his were very much going to clash. But you could at least play along to make sure your own plan came to fruition. “You’re the boss.”

Dick did not look convinced and, to his credit, neither did Bruce.

“Well then,” you said, setting your mug down in front of you and grinning up at Dick. “Tell me what your plan is and then let’s get this over with.”

**3 hours remaining**

Dick Grayson was almost making this too easy. All of his movements had been easy to track, his brain seemingly failing him in his grief. Once he’d left his father’s estate, he’d stopped at a florist and then hopped in his expensive sports car to head to Bludhaven. Anatoli was almost suspicious, but he also knew that even if Grayson was aware of his tail, he stood no chance. While his fighting style had taken Anatoli by surprise before, it wouldn’t take him by surprise again. While Grayson had style, he didn’t have the raw determination that Anatoli did. And, forced into a fight to the death, he wouldn’t have the guts to pull the trigger. While Anatoli Orlov’s self confidence was many things, it was not misplaced. He’d risen to power within the organization for a reason. Once Grayson was taken care of, he’d put down Tiger Shark once his shipment of metas was in.

A few stumbles on the path to greatness were to be expected. He couldn’t let his past failures weigh him down. Fingers of his new prosthetic hand gripping the steering wheel tight, he followed Grayson’s car as it took an exit and headed for an abandoned section of the bay. An odd place to lay remembrance flowers, but he had no idea what Grayson and his sister had done while she was still alive. Maybe they’d fucked there. It wasn’t his business but, he thought, it would be a twisted sort of poetic irony for his sister’s lover to die in a spot where they’d had their trysts.

Keeping a good distance, Anatoli made sure to park out of sight while Grayson got out of his own car. Before he got out, he made sure both of his pistols were fully loaded, his knife was still strapped to his hip, and pulled a vial from his pocket. When he’d gotten the prosthetic strapped on, Tiger Shark had also given him something that he’d said would give him an edge in a fight. Not that he needed it, but… With a heavy sigh, Anatoli downed the bitter liquid and tossed the vial aside before melting into the shadows and making his way down towards the beach. Grayson didn’t seem wise to his presence, making his way to a rickety pier and setting the bouquet down. Now that he was closer, Anatoli could see that he’d gotten red camellias.

Mila’s favorite flower. Discarding the pain he felt in his chest at that thought, Anatoli drew his gun and approached the other man. As he came to a stop just a few feet away, Grayson spoke.

“Do you know the meaning behind a red camellia?” he asked. His tone was calm, even. Not what Anatoli had expected.

“No.” Anatoli had hesitated before answering. It didn’t matter, anyways. The other man’s brains would be splattered all over the wood soon.

“They symbolize a deep passion.” Grayson looked up at him, eyes cold, hard with hatred. “If you’d stuck around, you would’ve known how fitting these are for your sister.”

Bristling at the comment, Anatoli flicked off the safety on his gun. “I know that they were her favorite,” he growled. “Knowing what they symbolize doesn’t mean shit.”

“Maybe they also symbolized the hatred she harbored towards a brother who abandoned her and killed her parents.” Grayson stood, hands slipping casually into his pockets. When Anatoli let his finger curl around the trigger, he didn’t even blink. “You’re here to kill me, right? Get rid of the last annoyance in the way of your master plan?”

“Tiger Shark may see you as a threat, but that’s not why I agreed to it.” Anatoli grinned, heart pounding. Suddenly he felt energized, blood hot in his veins. “I just think you’re fucking annoying.”

Squeezing the trigger, he growled when Grayson ducked. The other man removed his hands from his pockets, throwing a projectile at him. It hit the gun before he could move, knocking it out of his grip. When he saw the smug look on Grayson’s face, Anatoli decided that he would, in fact, do this the hard way.

“That’s a nice new hand you got there,” Grayson simpered, straightening and looking relaxed. Like Anatoli wasn’t a threat. “Bet you missed having a little quality time with your right hand, huh?”

With a snarl, Anatoli drew the curved knife at his hip and lunged at Grayson. The other man was quick, dodged each slash with a precision that only pissed him off more. Vision bleeding red, he ripped off his jacket and tie, flipping his grip on the knife for a backhand strike. Suddenly, his movements were faster. Grayson looked surprised, off balance for a split second. Anatoli took the opportunity, grabbing Grayson’s injured bicep and squeezing. Hard.

While Anatoli had always been strong, he hadn’t expected to hear the crunch of bone. Grayson cried out, eyes wide in surprise and color draining from his face. He stumbled back, clutched at his injured arm. Blood quickly bloomed on the sleeve of his shirt, trickling and dripping from his fingertips. Breathing heavily, basking in the new strength that he’d found, Anatoli stalked towards him. Grayson backed up until he couldn’t, teetering on the edge of the pier. With his free hand, Anatoli grabbed him by the throat and slammed him into the rotting wood. Knee pressed to the gasping man’s chest, he raised the knife.

Something moved in the water.

Anatoli paused. Turning towards the source of the movement, he peered into the dark water. Whatever had been there was gone. All he saw was his own reflection, expression manic. Turning back to his prey, Anatoli smiled down at Grayson.

“Should I let you have a corpse that matches my sister’s?” he asked, voice rumbling like the thunder above them.

“Do it,” Grayson snarled back. “I thought you were supposed to be an efficient killer, not a posturing idiot.”

“Oh, who said I wasn’t allowed to have a little bit of fun?” Anatoli laughed, baring his teeth as a light drizzle began to fall. “Isn’t this cinematic? The lover killed in the rain, still mourning his whore.”

“At least I’m not a monster,” Grayson spat.

“Let this be your final lesson then, Grayson.” Anatoli pressed his knee down harder, chuckling when he heard a rib crack under the pressure. “The monsters are the ones who run this world. Always have, always will. When you have the choice to be a monster or to be prey, only one choice gives you the power to survive in this world.”

Before he could bring the knife down to slit Grayson’s throat, something wrapped around his wrist. Confused, he looked up. A pulsing, red scaled appendage kept him in its grip. It tightened as he fought against it, curling more securely. There was a sound behind him and he turned.

Several of the appendages had slithered onto the wood, curling and wrapping around the supports. As they flexed, a hand slipped out from the water and onto the pier. Then a head rose, dark hair hanging in a pair of glowing golden eyes. Anatoli watched with muted horror as a demon with his dead sister’s face dragged itself from the water, crouching on all fours. Lightning lit up the night, casting a nightmarish reflection on the blood red scales coating her skin. Scraping fingers that ended in long, black claws against the boards, the demon bared sharp teeth at him and hissed. Thunder rumbled in the distance, matching her low growl as she stood.

The limb around his wrist dragged him away from Grayson with inhuman strength, another lashing around his throat when he struggled. Pulled face to face with the demon, Anatoli felt the murderous rage in him quickly replaced with mind-numbing fear. There was nothing left of his sister in those eyes. Only dark, endless rage and hatred. The drizzle turned into a downpour as he and the creature simply stared at each other.

“Koshka.” Grayson spoke from behind him, voice strained. “Calm down.”

“This thing isn’t my sister,” Anatoli answered, breathless from the tight grip around his throat. “They threw her body in the bay and you came from that, didn’t you?” he asked the monster.

“You’re right.” The thing’s voice was similar to his sister’s, but pitched different, melodic in a strange, terrible way. Like a bad copy, born from nightmares. “I’m not your sister. Your sister died over a decade ago when you killed your parents with a car bomb. The woman who was born from that was not your sister. Just like my brother died that same day, killed himself when he stooped to murdering his own family.”

“Don’t do it.” Grayson had gotten up, swaying on his feet and clutching his mangled arm. “I can still take care of this.”

“You put him in jail, he’ll be out in a week. And in the process his lawyers will tear you and your reputation to shreds. They’ll destroy the reputation of everyone you love.” The monster let her gaze drift over to Grayson, the hatred fading for just a moment. “You agreed to let me come. I’m doing what has to be done.”

“You don’t know that he’ll be back on the streets,” Grayson argued. If he was able to, Anatoli would have laughed at the irony of a man he was going to kill fighting for the life of his killer. “Steps can be taken to make sure he gets a fair trial.”

“In this world, there are not fair trials for his kind. You could send him across the world and he would still come out smelling like a daisy.” The monster turned her gaze back to him. “Wouldn’t you, Anatoli?”

“Mila?” he wheezed.

“You don’t get to call me that. Not anymore.” Silencing him with a growl and a squeeze around his throat, she turned back to Grayson. “Get in the car, Dick. Get in the car, blast some music, drive as fast as you can, and go see a doctor.”

“This isn’t right.” Grayson sounded pained. “Are you sure this is what you want to do?”

“I’m certain. There are different types of justice in this world. Yours may include mercy, but there are times when that just won’t cut it.” The monster sighed, face softening. For that short moment, Anatoli could have cried. This thing, this terrible wretched thing, was what remained of his baby sister. “If you show mercy to him, it will only come back to haunt you. I’m not asking you to take part in this, because I know that you don’t kill. So please. Turn a blind eye, just this once.”

For several moments, the only sound was thunder and the pounding of rain. Then Grayson sighed.

“We’ll talk about this later,” he said.

“Very well. Go get medical attention. Once I’m done, I’ll meet you at the penthouse,” the monster said.

With that, Dick Grayson turned and left, leaving Anatoli to his fate. Destiny, he thought, had a strange sense of humor. That he would sentence his sister to death only to have a monstrous echo of her kill him did seem to be fitting for their fucked up family history. The grip of the slippery limbs loosened, the knife falling from his numb fingers as he fell to his knees. Anatoli looked up at his sister, wet hair plastered to her face.

“You grew up well,” he said. “Maybe not the way either of us wanted. Maybe not in a way that would make our parents proud. But you grew up well.”

“I grew up twisted with rage and grief,” she answered. Her face twisted from hate into one of immense sadness, shoulders slumped as she regarded him. “You made me just as much of a monster as you are.”

“But there are many different types of monsters.” Anatoli smiled, the strange rush he’d felt leaving him cold and hollow. “I think that you found a way to become the rarest type of them all. The heroic monster. Doomed to be looked down upon by other heroes, but an arbiter of justice none the less.”

“Stop trying to comfort me.” His sister, his little Mila, wiped tears from her eyes, smile twisted and angry. “I hate you, Anatoli. I hate what you’ve made me.”

“Then do what you have to.” He spread his arms out, a sacrificial lamb to the cruel god standing before him. “And I hope that one day, you will find peace.”

She did not answer him. Watching her face once more with hatred, Anatoli closed his eyes as small hands pushed him to the ground, teeth sank into his flesh, and the monster began to feed.

**0 hours remaining**

Pushing yourself to your feet, you licked blood from your hands and surveyed what remained of the man who had ruined your life. Once, you may have wept over his death. Once, you may have felt peace knowing that he would no longer haunt you.

Instead, you simply felt hollow.

Hunger sated, you turned your face up towards the rain and let it wash the blood from you. The thunder slowly faded and the rain stopped, sea breeze chilling you to the bone. Wiping what blood remained on your mouth away with the back of your hand, you pushed the mangled corpse into the sea.

With a renewed determination, you dove into the cold, dark depths. The only thing still standing in your way now was Tiger Shark, the architect of your slow, painful, brutal death.

You would make sure to return the favor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i listened to the doom eternal soundtrack while writing this and it probably shows oops. now that the timer is up on koshka's brother, it's time for tiger shark to face the music. also, i love exploring monsters and the different types of monsters and kinda let that show here oops x2
> 
> as always, thank you for reading. stay safe, stay healthy, i love y'all!


	17. The Only Thing They Fear is You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: violence, mild body horror, discussion about trauma and unhealthy coping mechanisms
> 
> _unbreakable, incorruptible, unyielding_

Gotham’s waters were just as filthy as the parts of the city you had seen. No matter how deep you dived, filmy skin closing over your eyes to protect them as they shifted to let you see in the darkness, the water still felt dirty against your skin. From the files you’d read on him and the fact that he’d confronted you in the sewers, you knew that you would find Tiger Shark there. Muted voices led you to him, ancient things who had lived in the bay and the souls he had dumped into the water equally helpful. His boat was lavish, considering it was in the sewers. Pulling yourself out of the terrible filth, you shook yourself in a poor attempt to dislodge the greasy, dirty feeling on your skin before slinking into the shadows. Even from the distance you were at, you could hear the rumble of the voices of the crew.

Your goal wasn’t slaughter. Letting one tentacle lash around a railing, you pulled yourself onto the side of the ship and paused. You could hear the engine, the static from radios, and the silent tapping of two pairs of shoes on the upper deck. Poking your head up, you spotted two armed guards not too far from you. It took several moments for you to settle on a pacifistic approach. So long as they didn’t spot you, you could get on the boat, do what you needed to, and get off without anyone noticing. Every movement muted, you slipped past the guards and onto the lower deck.

It wasn’t hard to locate Tiger Shark. The man was loud, voice booming. Peeking around the entrance to the room he was in, you huffed when you saw an armed guard with him. You’d already pissed off Dick, and you didn’t particularly want to piss him off more by killing someone else. But if you just approached them, there was a very good chance that you’d get shot.

Then you remembered.

With a smile, you stepped into the room, refusing to flinch when both Tiger Shark and the guard pulled guns on you. Holding up your hands, you took a deep breath and spoke.

“ **Please lower your weapons** ,” you said, leaning hard into the melodic tone your voice had taken.

Their muscles locked for a long moment and you sighed in relief as, ever so slowly, their aims wavered, and their arms lowered. If that hadn’t worked… you didn’t want to think about it.

“ **Thank you,** ” you said. “ **Guard, do not fight back.** ”

Before you could really make sure that the order had actually sunk in, you lunged forward and slammed his head against the wall. He went limp, and you checked to make sure he was still breathing before looking back up at Tiger Shark. The man was breathing heavily, grip on the gun white-knuckled. You didn’t know how long your little spell would last. You also hoped it wasn’t something that he could break out of. Reaching out, you wrenched the gun from his hand and took one small step back.

“I’m going to assume that we don’t have much time,” you said, switching back to your normal voice. “So let’s make this quick. Yes, I’m still alive. No, I’m not going to tell you how. Yes, I am willing and ready to kill you right here, right now. But I’m not going to.”

“Why?” Tiger shark asked, voice strained. You could see veins bulging in his throat, jaw clenched.

“Because that would create a vacuum in the criminal world that I’m not willing to create,” you answered. You kept your grip on his gun loose. “If I kill you now, someone worse than you will kill hundreds to get to the position you’re in now. And frankly, I’m really fucking tired of dealing with people like you. I don’t want to have to keep worrying about some new asshole with a weird animal fetish coming after me and the people I care about. So here’s what we’re going to do instead. I’m not going to use my little siren voice for this. You are going to stay the fuck out of Bludhaven. You are going to pretend that I’m still dead. You are going to leave Grayson and his family alone. And you are going to tell whoever is supplying you with child soldiers that you’re no longer interested.”

“Why the hell would I do that?” he snarled.

“Because if you don’t, I will hunt you down. For each time you don’t do what I ask of you, I will find you and I will take something from you. Maybe I’ll start with fingers and toes, move my way to your limbs. Maybe I’ll slaughter all of your little pets. I’ll make sure any and all plans that you ever make will fail. Because the thing about me being dead is that no one will know to look for me. And the water? That’s my territory.” You let one tentacle slip out from your back, slither forward and gently coil around his neck. “But I also know that right now you’re thinking ‘oh, there’s no way she’ll actually follow through with this’, so I think it’s best if I go ahead and give you some extra reasons to stay out of Bludhaven.

“Anatoli Orlov was killed tonight. Since he wasn’t a stupid man, he told at least some of his men what he would be doing tonight and who he was doing it for. Since Dick Grayson is still alive and he’s disappeared into thin air, they’re going to assume that you had him killed. But unlike your operation, the Malina has many different branches and a lot of men who are much higher up on the totem pole. They’re not going to be happy that you killed one of their men. If you tell them that his dead sister rose from the grave as a spirit of vengeance and killed him, they’re going to be even less happy. So they’re not going to want your metahumans anymore.” The appendage slowly tightened, just enough to be uncomfortable. “They’ll find a different supplier, likely in Europe, since I’m assuming that’s where your trafficker is based. Once they have his replacement in Bludhaven, they will then proceed to completely and utterly destroy you and everything you love. They will do it quickly, relentlessly, and with maximum brutality. If you even think about opposing them, they will wipe you off the face of the earth.”

You let out a small sigh, dropping the gun on a table next to you and approaching him.

“If you offer them something they want, like all of what you’ve taken in Bludhaven, they’ll let it rest. They won’t kill you, they won’t kill all your men, and they won’t kill whatever family or friends you have. They’ll keep an eye on you, much like me. But so long as you don’t fuck with Bludhaven, they won’t fuck with you. I spent all of my adult life studying that organization, and I can promise you that if you don’t do what I say, all of this will happen. And you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.”

“Fuck you.” Tiger Shark spat at your feet, furious flush rising on his skin. “I don’t follow the orders of some Ukrainian bitch.”

Stopping directly in front of him, you smiled up at the man. Two more appendages slipped out, binding his arms to his torso and keeping his legs locked in place. You could feel his muscles straining, desperately trying to fight back against the spell you’d put over him. You reached up and pulled the mask from his face, studying the furious, dark eyes that glared down at you.

“Hm.” You tapped a finger against your chin. “You know, I’m remembering an old saying. How did it go again…? Oh, yeah. An eye for an eye. **Don’t scream**.”

You watched as his jaw clenched tightly shut, eyes wide. Ever so slowly, you reached up and traced a nail just over his left eye. With a bright grin, you dug your fingers into the socket and ripped out his eye. Tiger Shark’s throat worked violently, a scream desperately trying to work its way out. Still smiling, you popped his bloody eye in your mouth and swallowed. It tasted like shit, but a point had to be made. Blood trickled from the bloody cavern where his eye had once been, dripping onto the limb you had wrapped around his throat. Abruptly, you stepped back and released him, watched him fall forward and hit the floor hard. His hands came up to clutch at the wound, color draining from his skin. You licked your fingers, slowly backing out of the room.

“I’ll be watching you, Tiger Shark. Take my advice, or losing that eye will be the least of your problems. Let’s hope we never seen each other again,” you murmured.

Slipping back out and sneaking your way onto the deck, you smiled when the alarm was finally raised. Leaping over the railing, you gave the first guard to spot you a friendly wave before you hit the water. Swimming away, you let the satisfaction of a job well done wash over you.

\---

By the time you changed, found a late bus to Dick’s neighborhood, and made your way to his building, the sun was beginning to rise. You had expected to find him asleep up in the penthouse, or maybe forcing himself to stay awake to confront you. Instead, you saw him in the lobby. You had no idea how long he’d been waiting there, sat on a bench with one arm in a sling and bags under his eyes so dark they looked like bruises. When you approached, he looked up at you, dark blue eyes unfocused for a moment before his face settled into a look of quiet disappointment.

It was worse than if he’d been angry.

“I thought you’d be here hours ago,” he said, voice quiet in the empty space. The guard at the desk didn’t look up, occupied by his magazine. “What did you do?”

“I think we should talk upstairs,” you whispered.

“I want to talk here,” he said. “Just stay quiet.”

Oh shit. You felt your heart sink. You knew, at some level, that killing your brother had unsettled him. But you hadn’t thought that it might unsettle him to the point where he kicked you out. He had every right to feel that way, though. So you nodded and sat down next to him, pulling your hood further up over your face.

“Okay.” Your voice cracked and you winced. “I went to talk to Tiger Shark.”

“Just talk?” he asked.

“Yeah.” You decided that he didn’t need to know about the disfigurement. Tiger Shark would probably hide it or lie about it, anyways. “I didn’t kill anyone. I promise.”

“I believe you.” Dick sighed, rubbing at his eyes. You felt terrible, seeing him brought down to this level by pain and exhaustion. “I just… I wanted you to stay out of this. I wanted you to lay low and stay safe. But you just… you keep throwing yourself into danger.”

“Dick—”

“No.” He interrupted you, voice rising for a moment before he took a deep breath and quieted down. “Do you have any idea how it felt hearing Barbara scream over the comms? Do you know how it felt for me to think that you were dead because I couldn’t get you to just fucking talk to me? Do you know how it felt to see you bleeding and limp and barely alive? Your throat was…” He closed his eyes, gathered himself. “It felt like I was dying. Like a part of me was just rotting away. I felt helpless.”

You wanted to reach out, to hold him and assure him that no, you were fine. But you didn’t know if he would react badly. So you sat, hands in your pockets, and hated yourself for doing this to him.

“I want to keep you safe, but you won’t let me. And it’s driving me insane, Koshka.” He finally looked at you again, face sad. “I can’t keep doing this. It’s hurting me to see you hurting yourself.”

Oh. You were sure you could feel your heart shattering into pieces. Jagged and sharp, cutting you into shreds. You could feel your chest tighten, a lump rising in your throat as tears threatened to spill. But you wouldn’t do it. You wouldn’t cry. Even if you were losing the one thing you had left to lose, you refused to cry.

“I…” Your voice warbled and you had to clear your throat to attempt to keep it even. “I’m sorry. I’ve been unfair to you.”

“The things that have happened in the last 72 hours haven’t hit you yet. But when they do, it’s going to hit you like a speeding truck. You’re in survival mode now, but eventually you’ll have to come out of that.” Dick finally, finally reached out and gently took your hand. “I’m so worried about you. You were tortured, you were killed brutally and slowly, then you turned around and killed the only family you had left. And I don’t think it’s hit you yet, not really. God, Koshka, I don’t even know if you can parse together who you are right now. And I’m scared that you’re going to keep throwing yourself into dangerous situations in an attempt to cope with all of this.”

The worst thing about the situation was that you knew he was right. You had been living on empty for years, nothing to lose and nothing to gain. For years you had struggled just to cope with the death of your parents. How were you going to even begin to tackle what had happened in the last few days once it really hit you? You didn’t know. Hatred and anger had been the only things that kept you from killing yourself, but it had also left you bitter and alone. Not really living, just barely surviving. It was a bitter pill to swallow. You couldn’t look him in the eye.

“I care about you, Koshka. I care about you so much that it really scares me. When I wake up, I think of you. When I go to sleep, I think of you. All I want for you is happiness. Not pretending to be happy, not having fleeting moments. I want you to really, truly feel peace. And that can’t just come from me. I want to be here for you, I want to provide some of that happiness. But you have to find something else that can give you peace.” Dick laced his fingers with yours. “If you promise me that you’ll try, I’m going to hold you to it.”

This was the last chance that you had, and you knew it. If you went back to what you had been doing, put yourself purposely in danger again, you would lose him. For real. You trusted that he would hold himself to that. Frankly, you were surprised he was even giving you the chance. You had lied to him to get to your brother, betrayed his trust that you would keep your promise. You weren’t going to waste it.

“I promise.” You choked on the emotion in your voice, blinked back a fresh wave of tears. “I promise you, Dick.”

Would that promise mean that you wouldn’t really be able to follow through on your threat to Tiger Shark? Yes. But you also suspected that the Malina would take care of the situation, regardless. And brief, cruel happiness from violence meant nothing in the face of losing a man you so deeply cared about.

“Thank you for the promise.” Dick let go of your hand, gently tipped your chin up so you were looking at him. “And thank you for coming home to me.”

You smiled, a little bit of warmth blooming in your chest. Home. A wonderful concept. “You’re welcome,” you murmured. “Now can we please go to bed?”

“That’s probably the sexiest thing you’ve ever said to me,” he chuckled.

Helping him stand, you leaned against each other as you rode up the elevator to the penthouse. Dick was barely even conscious by the time you got up there. Fighting off your own growing sense of exhaustion, you helped him get out of his clothes and let to let him change so you could as well. By the time you had slipped into pajamas and returned, he was already fast asleep, splayed on his back and snoring softly. For a moment, you simply watched him, the gentle rise and fall of his chest with each breath, the flicker of his eyes behind his lids as he dreamed. You absorbed that quiet moment of peace, let it wash over you.

Feeling that warmth blossom further, you crawled into bed, making sure to be on Dick’s uninjured side. You rested your head on his chest and let the sound of his heartbeat lull you to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't really like this chapter, but i also couldn't just keep staring at it and revising it. so here you are. next chapter should wrap up this little storyline (and hopefully not be super short), and then i'm going to work on another project while i decide if that will be the end of this story or if i want to do another arc with koshka and dick.
> 
> as always, thank you for reading. i love you all.


	18. Bathtub Mermaid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: sexual content (fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex)
> 
> _whatever you need  
>  whenever you need  
> i'll be by your side_

Two months passed slowly. You had functionally moved into the penthouse, the few things that Dick had been able to collect from your old home still packed up in boxes. After a brief talk with the building’s manager, your puppy was returned to you. Time had passed and she had grown larger, her head nearly coming up to your hip now. Damian had taken to calling her Penny (although he refused to admit it was because of Pennyworth) and you didn’t want to completely retrain her to respond to a different name, so it stuck. Your days passed quietly, the blank slate of your new life hanging over your head and the pressure to make the right decision haunting your every move.

A lot of your days in the beginning were spent lounging in the tub, sorting through files sent to you by Tim and Jason as they patched a new identity together for you through technical skills and shady contacts, respectively. Very early they had decided to keep your surname, if only to make sure no one would accidentally call you by the wrong name. The three of you had sat together on the couch in the penthouse, combing through Ukrainian and Russian baby name books to find something you all agreed on. It had taken a couple of days, but you’d all settled on something simple and generic: Liliya Pavlovna Koshka. Tim had immediately begun to create digital forgeries for you, quietly implanting them to create your new identity. You had school records in Kiev, a degree in journalism from St. Petersburg State University. You suddenly also had job records as an investigator, a few student articles under a new byline. Small things, things most people wouldn’t notice being implanted, but things that began to build a skeleton for the new you. Jason acquired a Kiev birth certificate for you, a green card to work in the US, a Ukrainian passport, a driver’s license and a tax ID number. The two men did their work quickly and efficiently, leaving you as nothing more than a spectator.

Wayne Enterprises quietly hired this new identity once the proper forgeries were made as an information specialist. Jason set up a bank account for you and by the end of that first month you were already working remotely in gathering information on the people Bruce Wayne pointed you to. The work was slow, all of your former contacts and informants gone and new relationships needing to be forged. When it became clear that you couldn’t truly do your job from the penthouse, you bleached your hair and wore green color contacts. Wayne had molds made that you could slip over your sharp teeth to make them appear more human without impeding your speech. When you left the building to meet potential sources, either Jason or Barbara went with you, quietly observing from the shadows to ensure your safety. Although it was destroying your pride to be watched over like this, you knew that it was a necessary punishment. Until you proved yourself to be trustworthy, to not throw yourself into danger again, you were going to have babysitters.

No one even seemed to notice that you just so happened to have the last name of a dead journalist. You’d come up with a whole backstory about being a second cousin from your father’s side, but no one even asked. It seemed that the old you had simply faded away. Your killer, Victor Zsasz, sat in Arkham, a new scar on his skin the only tangible memory of who you once were. Dick had expected an enormous fallout when he returned to Bludhaven, but had gotten nothing more than a slap on the wrist. His failure had led to crooked elements getting what they wanted, after all. He had refused to quit, wanted to do his best to work from the inside to change the city. He was transferred to homicide, assigned a new partner, and found his case load suddenly much lighter than before.

When he wasn’t working on a case as Detective Grayson of Bludhaven PD or as Nightwing, Dick made a conscious effort to come and spend time with you in Gotham. If you were lucky, you would have entire weekends with him, ordering take out and having movie nights. You enjoyed those nights the most, his warm body next to yours as you slept, a quiet security and comfort that you missed when he wasn’t there. But you’d only really gotten three weekends with him. Most of the time, he stayed with you one night, came to the penthouse with take out and a bottle of wine and looking exhausted. You appreciated the effort, enjoyed the time you got with him. But after one night when he’d come to you with lingering pain in his arm and bloodshot eyes, you’d urged him not to push himself. If he wanted you to take care of yourself, then he needed to do so as well. During the day to day slog, when you only had Penny’s company and maybe Barbara and Jason’s, he texted and called, gave you updates and listened to you talk about your own day. It felt normal, a concrete thing for you to cling onto while your mind tried to unravel itself.

Early into the process of piecing together a new identity, Dick had found a psychologist for you. An older woman who worked with metahumans and had a reputation for being discreet and knowing how to help those who weren’t entirely human. You didn’t get her name and she didn’t get yours, but names didn’t truly matter during your sessions. You simply called her the Doctor and she called you the Siren and, for the moment, it was enough. The Doctor came to the penthouse for your sessions three times a week, used a heavily encrypted device to record your sessions. She was patient and empathetic, did not approach you with fear when you were angry. Each hour was a minefield, both of you trying to defuse emotional bombs before they could explode and leave you feeling numb and detached for the rest of the day. It was hard work, slowly piecing yourself back together and separating the woman from the monster. The grief you had refused to let yourself go through hit you hard the first week and you refused several calls from Dick so that he wouldn’t have to listen to you sob. But as painful as the journey was, you knew that it was necessary. If you wanted to truly honor the rusalka’s gift of a new life, honor the second chance Dick had given you after you were so monstrous, you had to find a way to heal.

Along with the sessions with the Doctor, you also found yourself actually making friends. Barbara had already started to build that bridge before your death and made efforts after the fact, too. You liked her, but found your own attempts to build that friendship terribly awkward and stilted. Other than childhood friends who you had lost after your parents’ deaths, you hadn’t really had friends. You’d had co-workers and sources and bosses and people that you got along with, but didn’t necessarily bond with. But Barbara was patient with you, understood that your hesitance to really let her into your life came more from inexperience than reluctance. Once a week she took you out for lunch, or brought lunch to you, depending on your mood, talked about her own life and experiences and relationships. She even let you meet her girlfriend, Dinah, who you immediately liked as much as Barbara. If you didn’t feel comfortable sharing your feelings with Dick, you would turn to Barbara. Tim was still a bit cautious around you, a little frightened of you. A few conversations with him about his studies and some moments spent comforting him (awkwardly) when his girlfriend dumped him helped, but you knew that he while he had accepted you as a part of his weird little family, he’d never really be as open with you as Barbara.

Your immediate friendship with Jason, however, surprised you. When you’d first met him, he’d come across as brash and rude, hot tempered and violent. But you’d quickly realized that he was also sensitive, tended more towards an empathetic nature and had a deep love of classic literature which made you both instant friends. When you’d handed him a few copies of Dostoyevsky in Russian and an earmarked copy of The Seagull, he’d declared that he would ‘kill any motherfucker’ who messed with you. He came to visit you more frequently than Barbara, volunteered for babysitting missions and treated them more like time to hang out that was only briefly interrupted by actual work. You got chili dogs with him, went to bookstores with him, listened to his problems and helped him come up with solutions. Best of all, you got to speak with him in your mother tongue, shared little jokes that the others wouldn’t understand. Discovering that he was fluent in Ukrainian and absolutely delighted you, and had given him a chance to brush off the rust. Best of all, he quietly kept an eye on Tiger Shark and made sure that the man did, indeed, stay the fuck out of Bludhaven.

Tim, Barbara, and Jason never treated you like a monster. And that, more than anything, helped you carve out a new path for yourself.

The third month passed by quickly, once you had found a routine for yourself. You woke up at 6, walked Penny at the nearby park and got yourself coffee. Then you got to work, gathering information from home before setting out and meeting sources and scoping out buildings. Jason was now the one who would meet you for this, stick close by and help you record conversations and take surveillance photos. Then you would stop somewhere for a short time (usually a café to get coffee or a bookstore to gush over Russian literature) before Jason dropped you back off at the penthouse. You would eat dinner (a package of raw meat, which you had gotten used to), call Dick, take Penny for another walk, and then go to bed.

Dick called you one day to let you know that he’d taken four full days off, and although you were happy that he would be able to spend more time with you, you were also confused by the timing. You didn’t think there was anything special happening, as Thanksgiving had passed and there were several weeks before Christmas. But that didn’t matter, even if you were wondering if there was some special secret reason behind it.

What mattered was that you were finally going to get the proper chance to tell Dick Grayson that you were pretty sure you were in love with him.

\---

The first night, Dick came to you hours later than he had first said. When he came through the door, he was battered, bruised, exhausted. You’d been ready to launch yourself at him but paused, Penny letting out a cheerful bark and wagging her tail when she spotted him. Plastering on a smile, Dick closed the door and let out a heavy sigh.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, crossing over to where you were perched on the couch and dropping his bag. “I got a little tied up with Nightwing stuff.”

“What was it this time?” you asked.

“Some group called the League of Limousine Assassins.” When you made a face, he laughed. “Right? They’re a genuine pain, though. Got in a tussle with them before I could pack my stuff and get out here.”

You frowned. If he was having troubles back in Bludhaven, then chances were that he was needed more there than you needed him in Gotham. Dick bent down and pressed a quick kiss to the corner of your mouth before flopping down and resting his head on your lap.

“Do… you need to go back?” you asked after a moment.

“Nah.” He closed his eyes, let out a pleased hum when you carded your fingers through his hair. “Jason agreed to keep an eye on them for me.”

“I’ll have to treat him to lunch once he gets back,” you murmured.

Dick hummed again, breathing already beginning to slow. Within moments, he’d fallen asleep, turning to press his face into your belly. You glanced at Penny, who merely wagged her tail at you.

Perhaps your plan was going to be a little bit harder than you thought.

\---

The second day was, somehow, even worse. You’d managed to wake up Dick long enough the night before to get him to bed, stared at the wall as he curled himself around you and snored. Maybe you were just psyching yourself out, but you’d spent a good chunk of the night worrying instead of sleeping. Just before the sun rose, your phone went off and managed to wake up both of you. Snarling, you snatched it from the table and glared at the screen.

“Bruce needs me to come in,” you grumbled, rubbing at your eyes.

Dick sighed, pulling you tighter against him and burying his face in your hair. “Can’t wait?” he mumbled, voice rough with sleep.

“Can’t wait,” you confirmed. Already in a foul mood, you turned to give him a quick kiss before sliding out of bed. “I’ll try to get this taken care of quickly.”

“At least have time for breakfast?” Dick sat up, yawning.

You watched his muscles flex as he stretched, let your gaze linger on the stubble that darkened his jaw, his dark hair mussed from sleep. He smiled, well aware of your gaze. More than anything else, you wanted to tell Bruce Wayne to go fuck himself and throw yourself back into bed, kiss Dick until you were both breathless. But you needed your job. It gave you stability (and a nice paycheck). If you pissed off Bruce, you risked your position. However, you were pretty sure he could wait just a little longer. You were, after all, one of the big reasons why Dick was visiting Gotham more often.

“Just breakfast,” you warned him. “So don’t get any ideas.”

Dick pouted. He’d definitely had some ideas about how to get you to spend a little bit more time with him. You left the room, letting Penny out of her kennel and giving her a scratch behind the ears when she followed you into the kitchen. By the time Dick had dragged himself out of bed, you had coffee ready for him and had already started whipping together a batter for syrniki. The first breakfast you’d made for him seemed fitting for what you wanted to tell him. That first breakfast, he had opened up to you. Only fair that you do the same for him. Dick pressed a kiss to the back of your neck before he took his coffee, getting one started for you as you poured in the first batch.

“Ah, syrniki?” he said, lips curving into a pleased smile. “You must have something planned.”

Of course you did. But you weren’t quite ready to let him know. Not yet. So you simply smiled and accepted your coffee from him, let him pull you in for a sweet kiss. You’d both learned to be careful, not to get too caught up in the moment, after you’d accidentally bitten his lip several times. Dick had gotten tired of explaining away his split lips, and you’d gotten tired of having to apologize and take a cold shower. When he pulled back, dusted soft kisses over your cheekbone, you tried not to be disappointed with yourself. The Doctor had said to forgive yourself for your new physical limitations, to see them as your new normal instead of a handicap.

When you turned to the stove, started up the next batch, Dick did not immediately dig into his food. Instead, he pressed himself against your back, rested his chin on top of your head and let his fingertips drum against your hips. You enjoyed the affection, basked in it, but also knew that it was a prelude to Dick attempting to distract you. Once all of the syrniki were cooked and plated up, sour cream and jam set out, and more coffee made, he still let his touch linger on you. While you’d already finished your food, he had barely even touched his. Finally, you sighed and set down your plate, taking his from his hands and setting it on the counter before you glared up at him.

“Dick Grayson,” you said, ignoring his sheepish smile. “I know what you are up to. Trust me, I would love to stay here with you all day. But if Bruce Wayne tells me he needs me to come into the office this morning, I can’t keep him waiting until the afternoon.”

“When did you get so responsible?” Dick sighed right back at you, hooking his fingers in the waistband of your pajama pants and pulling you closer. “I was looking forward to a morning in bed with you.”

Just the thought of it had you shivering. When Dick wasn’t exhausted and you were forcing him to go to sleep, he was insatiable in his desire. Most of the time it was simply confined to small things, like linking his pinky with yours, burying his face in your neck, or tucking you against his chest when you watched movies, legs bracketing yours and arms holding you close. But when he had greater desires, you found yourself easily overwhelmed, fingers clutching his hair as he drove you over the edge again and again. You simply did not have the hours it would take for him to be satiated. Not right now.

If whatever Bruce was calling you in for wasn’t important, you were going to bite the man’s dick off.

“I know,” you said. You reached up, carefully brushed your fingers through his hair to smooth it back. “I was, too. But I need this job, and I don’t think you want to deal with the disappointed dad looks you’ll get from Bruce.”

“Ugh.” Dick made a face, squeezed your hips. “You know how to kill the mood.”

“Mm, I know how to get you to practice some self-control.” Smiling, you kissed the tip of his nose before pulling away from him. “I really need to get ready for work.”

Dick and Penny both followed you back to the room, the dog curling up at the foot of the bed while Dick leaned against the doorway, watching you as you pulled out clothes to change into.

“I could join you in the shower?” he asked, eyes bright with hope.

“That’s why I’m not taking a shower right now,” you sighed. “Honestly, Dick.”

“What? A man can hope,” he laughed.

Ignoring his gaze on your skin as you stripped down, you pulled on slacks and a long sleeved blouse. By the time you’d pulled out boots to slip into and a coat, Dick had thrown himself onto the bed, face buried in Penny’s fur. That familiar warmth bloomed in your chest, had you pausing before you headed out the door. It was moments like these that helped you grasp at the little piece of you that wanted quiet peace. You reached out and gently skimmed your fingertips over the back of his neck, smiling when he let out a low, sleepy hum.

“You should get some more rest,” you told him. “Maybe go see Damian. I know he misses you.”

“Mm, I will,” he sighed. “But if I go see Damian, he’ll want to hit the streets. It’ll be late before I get home.”

“That’s okay.” It wasn’t. You were frustrated, wanted more time with him before he was pulled back into his own hectic life. But his family deserved time with him. Plus, Damian was much easier to deal with after he’d spent time with his older brother. “Text me if you need anything, okay?”

Dick grunted, already on his way to falling asleep. Penny yawned at you before settling down herself. You knew Dick would take her out for a walk before leaving, so you wouldn’t have to worry about waking either of them up. After heading to the bathroom to quickly freshen up, put in your contacts and false teeth, and fix your hair, you gave the bedroom one last long, lingering look before heading out the door.

\---

It was after dark before you got home and Dick was not there. You knew he wouldn’t be. He had texted you earlier, told you he was going to patrol with Damian. But the disappointment still stung. Bruce had given you three new potential investors to dig into and you’d found yourself overwhelmed with massive amounts of digital and paper documents on them. And of course, those were only the public files. You hadn’t even gotten a chance to dig up dirt on them, calling it a day once Bruce’s secretary went home. Of course, that also meant that you would have work to do the next day, and you were not pleased.

Bruce had at least given you an apologetic look. It didn’t cushion the blow of having work to do when you’d hoped for a lighter case load.

Penny greeted you with a happy bark, body wiggling with the force of her wagging tail. You scratched at her ears and set down your bag, kneeling so that she could press up against you and you could wrap your arms around her in a hug.

“Want to go for a walk, girl?” you asked, grinning when she gave an answering yip and burst from your hold. “That’s what I thought.”

Retrieving her harness and leash and grabbing a bag of treats, you took her out to the park. Winter had fully set in and you’d found yourself needing to wet your scales more frequently or they would begin to peel and crack. Your breath fogged as you walked, enjoying the crisp night air and crunch of snow under your boots. Although the walks with Penny were shorter since you hadn’t gotten her booties for the snow yet, she still enjoyed them. You’d been working on her socialization, keeping her on a tight leash when other dogs walked by and feeding her treats when she behaved and didn’t immediately lapse into a barking fit.

Dick told you that you were going to make her fat doing that, but she seemed fine and your method worked so far.

Glancing up at the skyline above you, you wondered where he was. Maybe he was out on the fringes of the city. Maybe he was near Arkham, chasing down escaped inmates. Maybe he was in Butcher’s Block, taking down would-be muggers and rapists. Or maybe he and Damian were simply swinging across the city, letting themselves have an easy night and immersing themselves in conversation. Frankly, you were hoping for the latter. The bruises he’d had when he came to Gotham looked painful, and you didn’t want to see more on him.

Shaking yourself out of your wandering thoughts, you headed back to your building and gently brushed snow from Penny’s legs once you’d gotten up to the penthouse. She patiently waited for you to finish toweling her down before running and curling up on one of the armchairs that you’d set cushions in for her, settling down for the night. It was probably a good idea for you to do the same. You went through the motions: hung up your coat, took out your false teeth and contacts, changed into pajamas. When you opened the fridge, you paused. There was a box inside that you didn’t remember getting. Maybe Dick had picked something up for himself. Although you were curious, you weren’t going to stick your nose where it didn’t belong. You’d moved past that. Pushing it aside, you pulled out a package of ground beef and dug in.

Normally, after dinner, you’d get some more work done or have a glass of wine and watch the news. But you weren’t particularly in the mood. Instead, you grabbed blankets from the closet, made yourself a mug of ginger tea, and settled down on the couch. Instead of the news, you simply turned it to a cooking channel, turned the volume down, and waited patiently for Dick Grayson to return to you.

\---

It was in the early hours of the third day that you heard the balcony door open. The sun still hadn’t risen yet, but was only a few hours away. You’d dozed off at some point while waiting, scales painfully dry and chafing. When you opened your eyes and shifted, you let out a small, pained whimper as the movement pulled at the dry spots. Dick paused, still in his Nightwing costume and in the middle of closing the door. With an apologetic smile, he closed it all the way, face flushed from the cold as he approached you.

“Sorry I woke you up,” he whispered.

“It’s okay,” you mumbled. Carefully, you uncurled your legs and tipped your head up so he could kiss you. “Wanted to be awake when you got back.”

Dick frowned, eyes hidden behind his mask. Taking off one of his gauntlets, he gently pulled one side of your shirt down, scales on your shoulder flaking at the movement and making you wince.

“Koshka.” His frown deepened. “You haven’t been in the tub at all today, have you?”

“It’s fine.” You’d been through worse pain anyways, and you were running out of time. So you decided to change the subject. “Have I told you how much I like that costume?”

Dick sighed. “Yes, you’ve told me many times. Come on, get up. You need to get in some water.”

Although you were miffed that he’d brushed off your poor attempt at flirting, you still obeyed and got up. If you were lucky, maybe he would sit with you while you soaked. You got up from the couch, untangling yourself from the blankets and letting him lead you to the bathroom. While he drew water for you, you shrugged out of your clothes, hesitating for a moment before slipping out of your underwear as well. You watched him take off his mask, pull off his other gauntlet to test the temperature. When he turned to you, Dick hesitated for just one moment before a sly smile pulled up the corner of his lips.

“Bath is ready,” he said, voice pitched low. You swallowed a lump in your throat, his gaze burning as you slipped into the water. “Want me to stay with you?”

“Please,” you sighed. Although you’d been naked in front of him several times before, you still found yourself feeling nervous. You dunked your head under the water for a moment before surfacing again, pushing wet hair from your eyes and meeting his gaze. “How was patrol?”

“It was good,” he said. Dick sat on the edge of the tub, taking your hand when you offered it. “Pretty uneventful. Damian crashed an armed robbery and made a mugger piss himself.”

You snorted. “Did Bruce give him his sword back?”

“No.” Dick quirked an eyebrow. “Bold of you to assume he has to have a weapon to scare someone that badly.”

Sitting up, you pulled your hand from his and traced a nail over the blue emblem on Dick’s chest. Watching you closely, he didn’t move, let you take the first hesitant steps. You rested your hand just over his heart, your own beating a staccato rhythm against your ribs. You were terrified of the words that you wanted to say.

“Everything okay?” Dick asked. He was still, eyebrows furrowing.

“Yeah.” No, you weren’t. But you let yourself chicken out again, smiled up at him. “Sorry, it’s just been a very long day.”

Telling him you loved him after he talked about Damian would have been a little weird anyways. You leaned back again, fingers trailing to rest on his hip. The fabric of his costume was rigid against your skin, despite how easily he moved in it. He’d told you that this suit had extra lining in it to keep him warm, a hood he could pull up to protect his face and ears if it got to be too cold. The engineering of it was fascinating, the way it clung to him, protected him from vicious blows, but still let him flip around with ease. You would have liked it more on the floor of the bathroom, though.

“Bruce didn’t work you too hard, did he?” he asked, leaning forward to push wet hair that had fallen in your eyes behind your ear. “You need to be careful not to work yourself too hard again.”

“I could say the same to you.” You rolled your eyes, letting the hand on his hip drift to rest on his thigh instead. When his thigh flexed under your palm, you smothered a smirk. “But no, he didn’t. He actually gave me a longer window to get information sorted for him, which is a little weird. It’s a lot to sort through, but I’ve got time.”

Dick gave you an odd look then. You weren’t sure why, but confusion was replaced by realization. Then he sighed, resting a hand on your wet shoulder, scales smooth once more.

“What?” you asked.

“Just…” Dick searched your face, saw the confusion there, and shook his head. “Never mind. I’m glad that he gave you some extra time. You deserve to have some time off.”

Later, you could confront him about why he was being so weird. At the moment, all you wanted was to lose yourself in him. The fact that he was wearing the costume, quite frankly, only made you want him more. But Dick had always been the one to pursue you. He’d always taken the first step, pulled you willingly along with him. Although you knew he would be willing, you were uncertain how to proceed now that he’d given you the lead. So you decided to just go ahead and go full speed ahead.

“You should get in here with me,” you said. Immediately after the words had left your mouth, you felt embarrassment wash over you. “I… I mean, if you want to.”

Dick smiled, fondness in his gaze as you sank to your chin in the water. His dimples appeared and you felt your heart melt just a little. Reaching down, he began to peel off the top of his costume.

“I was wondering when you’d finally ask,” he laughed. You watched as tossed the top half on the tile, bruises still blooming across his skin. When he stood up to peel off his boots and push down his bottoms, you closed your eyes and submerged fully. His laughter rang above the surface and you felt him gently push at your back. When you surfaced, you kept your gaze on your own knees. “Move forward so I can get in.”

You obeyed silently, curling in on yourself so he had enough room to slip into the water behind you. Cheeks flushed, you watched the water level rise once he’d settled in. Then his arms came around you, pulling you flush against him. Dick pressed his face into the crook of your neck, shaking exhale fanning hot over your skin. His legs bracketed yours, the position similar to how he held you on the couch.

Except, of course, for the fact that you were both completely naked.

“I missed you,” he whispered against your skin, each brush of his lips making you shudder.

“You saw me this morning,” you breathed, tipping your head to the side to give him further access to your throat.

Dick chuckled, arms tightening around your middle as his lips skimmed up to press a kiss just under your jaw. He could feel you shudder, feel the way you pressed further back against him. Although you had initiated wherever this affection was going to go, you both knew that he had taken back control.

“I mean I missed you before I got here,” he said, letting his teeth briefly nip at your pulse. “It’s been a while since I’ve really been able to hold you like this.”

“I…” Your breath caught as he gently sucked a mark into the crook of your neck, pressed a gentle kiss over the bruising skin. “I missed this, too. Missed you. It killed me to leave you this morning.”

“We’ll just have to make up for lost time,” Dick said.

His grip on you loosened and you tipped your head back to rest on his shoulder as his fingers slid over your skin. One hand pressed over your belly, pushing you against him as the other ghosted over your inner thighs. You closed your eyes, arching when his fingers finally slipped inside of you. Dick, it seemed, was impatient and had very little time to tease you. As tense as you were, you appreciated it. Still, the movement of his thick fingers inside of you was gentle, his thumb pressing over your clit. When you arched, pushed against his hold on you, he growled against your skin. Twisting in his grip, you whined as he picked up his pace, rolled his thumb.

“Dick,” you panted, one hand gripping the edge of the tub and the other holding onto his knee. “P…please…”

“You’ve been so good,” he crooned in your ear. His own breath hitched as he spread his fingers, heard your cry echo in the room. “Let go, baby.”

Panting, your nails scored the porcelain of the tub. Your grip on his knee tightened, although you were careful not to let your nails dig into his skin. Although it was almost shameful how quickly he had you unraveling beneath him, it took only a few more short moments before you were hurtling over the edge. Your cries echoed around you, body shuddering as you came down. Dick let his fingers slide out, pressed soft kisses against your jaw as you caught your breath. He was hard against the small of your back, breath labored as you slowly came back down.

You twisted in his arms, let your legs bracket his hips and rested your hands on his chest. Dick only watched, eyes hooded as you settled in his lap and slipped your hands up to cradle his face. Water slid down his skin and yours, little puddles on the floor from your thrashing. Your thumb brushed over a fading bruise on his cheek, his eyes slipping closed. He was beautiful in the dim light of the bathroom, skin smooth under your own.

“Dick.” You waited for him to open his eyes, his breathing even again. “I think that we should move to the bedroom.”

Pleased grin growing, he let his hands rest on your hips, nuzzled into your touch. “Mm, we don’t have to go to the bedroom.”

“Well…” You felt a flush growing on your skin again. “I don’t know about… in the water…”

“We’ve already made a bit of a mess.” His grin got a little darker, sent a shiver down your spine. “Besides, it’s something new, right?”

“You just want to say you fucked a rusalka in a bathtub,” you huffed.

“No,” he said, face softening slightly. “I want to make love to someone I care about, in a place that’s comfortable for them.”

“Oh.” Oh indeed. Of course Dick would have some mushy, sentimental reason. “I… Oh.”

“Only if you’re comfortable.” His hands skimmed up to your waist, thumbs brushing over the ridge of scales just below your ribs. “If you’re not, that’s okay, too.”

“No!” You sat up straighter. “No, I… something new would be nice.”

“A gift,” he murmured, turning his head to kiss your palm. “From me to you.”

“Gross,” you giggled.

Sitting back on your heels, you let your hands slide down his chest, his stomach, then paused. Dick watched you closely, fingers flexing against your skin. With a wicked grin, you reached down and gently wrapped your hand around his cock. Head tipping back, he let out a groan, finally breaking eye contact as his hips bucked up. You kept your touch soft, just enough to have him twitching in your hand without risking hurting him. His chest heaved, thighs clenching under you as you slowly, torturously built him up. Finally, he reached down and grabbed your wrist, stopping you just as your grip had tightened and you had begun to speed up.

“That…” He gasped, catching his breath. “That’s enough. Wanna take my time.”

“Okay,” you said, releasing his dick and smoothing your hands over his stomach. “I wouldn’t mind just jerking you off.”

“I want to cum inside you,” he growled. His grip tightened on your hips, helped you position yourself. “Feeling you so wet and warm around my fingers was killing me.”

You shuddered, arousal pooling low in your core at his words. His tip brushed against your entrance and you moved to brace your hands on his chest. Keeping eye contact with him, you slowly sank onto him, the stretch making you moan. Once you’d sunk all the way down, taken his whole cock, you clenched around him and watched the breath leave his lungs.

“Do what you want with me,” you purred, grinding against his pelvis, hips swiveling. “I’m all yours.”

You didn’t have to tell him twice. Dick’s grip on your hips was near bruising as he guided your movements, jaw clenched as you moved. When his hips thrust up as he guided you to sink down, you let your head fall back, soft moans falling from your lips. Although Dick had said he wanted to take his time, it did not take long for him to be guiding you back, your back braced against the tub as he slipped out briefly to reposition. Then he was thrusting back in, guiding one leg to rest over his shoulder as he held you up. He hit different spots inside of you, took all control and left you helpless to him.

Just how you liked it.

When you began to slide into the water, he didn’t need to stop. Instead, you raised your hips, let him fuck into you at a different angle. You braced your hands behind you, made sure to keep your head from smashing into the side of the tub. One of his hands reached into the water, fingers brushing over your gills and making you clench hard around him as you cried out. Pace nearing brutal, Dick raised you back up out of the water, pressed your chest to his as he chased his own orgasm. You appreciated it, appreciated the sloppy press of his lips to yours, the way he twitched inside of you. His own moans slipped from his lips, his face pressing into your neck.

“Koshka…” he groaned, cock hitting a spot in you that had you crying out. “Can’t…”

“Please,” you cried. You let your hands slide to clutch at his magnificent ass, clenched around him.

It only took a few more bruising thrusts before you felt him twitch, spilling in you. Dick groaned, arms shaking as he kept himself braced over the water, over you. His hips thrust sloppily a few more times before he relaxed, sat up and pulled you with him. You rested on his lap, his cock softening inside you, and gently stroked his hair until he had caught his breath. Even then, he kept his face pressed to your neck, stayed inside of you. It was strange, but warm, intimate. Finally, he spoke.

“My knees hurt,” he grunted.

You laughed, urging him to look up at you. His face was still flushed, eyes warm.

“If your knees hurt, we can get out of the tub,” you murmured.

“I like this,” he said. His arms tightened around you. “I like being inside you.”

“Mushy,” you laughed. “It does feel nice, though.”

“My fingers are pruning.” He sighed.

Rolling your eyes, you made the decision for him. Slowly getting off his lap and biting back a moan as he slipped out of you, you stood up and grabbed a towel. Dick followed with a heavy sigh, grabbing a towel as well and helping you out of the tub. You dried off your skin and your hair, wrapping the towel around yourself. Dick dried himself off before taking your hand, leaving his towel on the floor as he led you back to the bedroom. He guided you to sit on the edge of the bed, pulled on a pair of sweatpants and helped you into a nightgown. Then he knelt in front of you, brushing his thumbs over your knuckles before he spoke.

“I had another gift for you,” he said. “I didn’t think it would be a surprise, but it might be. Stay here and I’ll go get it, okay?”

Confused, you nodded. Dick pressed a kiss to your cheek before standing up and walking out. You weren’t sure what he was talking about. What kind of gift was it, why would it be a surprise? Nervous, you scooted back to sit in the middle of the bed, twisted your fingers in the hem of your nightgown. When he came back, looking nervous and holding a pre-sliced cake, you stared at him in confusion.

“I don’t understand,” you blurted.

“You are one of the smartest people I know, but somehow one of the dumbest,” he laughed. Crossing over to you, he carefully set down the cake platter in front of you. “You seriously don’t even remember your own birthday?”

Your birthday. You stared at him as he moved to sit next to you, uncomprehending. Then you realized what the date was, the full significance of why he’d taken so many days off hitting you. Somehow, in the terrible clutter of your brain, you’d managed to forget your own birthday.

“Dick, I…” you stared down at the cake, tears slipping down your cheeks. “I forgot my birthday.”

“Hey, it’s okay.” Alarmed, he wrapped an arm around you, pulled you into his side and wiped away your tears. “I didn’t think this would make you cry.”

“I forgot my birthday,” you said again, still staring at the cake. Your breath hitched, the little blossom inside of you unfurling and overwhelming you. “I forgot it, but you remembered.”

“Well, yeah.” He laughed, moved the cake over to the bedside table so he could safely pull you into his arms. “Of course I’d remember it. I’d be a pretty shitty boyfriend if I forgot.”

Overwhelmed, you pressed your face into his chest, curled yourself around him. You felt his chest rumble your cheek with soft laughter, felt his fingers card through your hair. The dam burst, the warmth in your chest spilling out and over your tongue.

“I love you,” you sobbed. “I’m such a mess I can’t even remember my birthday, but you did it for me. You got me a fucking cake and… and…”

Dick had frozen, breath caught in his chest. Then he was pulling you tighter against him, burying his face in your hair as he laughed, the joy in it ringing clear.

“Of course I got you a cake,” he murmured. “Of course I remembered. I want to celebrate things like this, important things, with you. I love you, too.”

Your heart soared. The warmth spilled and spilled and spilled until you could feel it in your fingertips and toes, until you wondered if it was dripping from your lips and mixing with your tears. Sniffling, you pulled back enough to look up at him, eyes puffy from crying.

“I love you, you asshole,” you said. “What kind of cake did you get me?”

“Double chocolate with cream cheese icing,” Dick said, looking smug. “Your favorite, of course. Alfred made it.”

Full to bursting with affection for this man, this wonderful man who had never given up on you, even at your worst, you shoved him down onto the bed. His laughter was smothered by your hungry kiss, hands clutching at him.

You could always eat the cake later.

\---

You spent the remainder of the third day tangled under the sheets with Dick. You left only to eat Alfred’s cake and walk Penny before falling back into bed with him.

It was, you thought, one of the best birthdays you’d had. Your work for Bruce could wait.

\---

You woke on the fourth day with a heavy heart. Dick was leaving early, had to get back to check in on his cases. You made him scrambled eggs and bacon before he left, kissed him over and over until he pushed you away with a gentle laugh and insisted he had to leave. Penny whined as he collected his bag, pressing against your leg as you both bid him farewell. He promised to come back soon, spend the night again. You knew that he would do his best but, once again, you were both mercy to your respective jobs.

With a heavy sigh, you settled into the couch and got to work. Once more, you fell into your routine. As long as you did your best, made an effort, you knew that things could only get better.

\---

A figure dragged themselves from the sea, moon full and bright in the sky as they stumbled to their feet in Bludhaven’s sunken city district. The sea had called them once more, sent them to the filthy, blood soaked city. But this time was different. This time, they had felt another power awakened in those same waters. Someone else chosen, someone else walking the blighted land.

Under the light of the full moon, The Judge smiled. Soon, he would find this other chosen one. And, perhaps, they would help him purge the corruption in Bludhaven.

**END OF PART ONE**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's the end of this arc, folks! if you've read the storyline in rebirth nightwing with the judge, then you likely have a good idea of what's going to go down in the last six chapters. i'm going to take a break on this story while i work on Tim's (which you can find [Here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23403727/chapters/56088022)), but don't worry. dick and koshka will be back. 
> 
> while you're waiting, if you enjoyed this, you can read Tim's story (linked above). it's purely self indulgent and i think i'm going to have a lot of fun with it. i also made a moodboard for this story [Here](https://spidergwenn.tumblr.com/post/614044283371143168/fic-moodboard-what-the-water-gave-me-sister) and made Koshka at the end of this arc in a picrew generator, which you can see [Here](https://66.media.tumblr.com/5955cbf7c503334838115afdc46d63a9/dd6dbd107bc026bf-ab/s640x960/f1f41353103031eda52b8327062fa04706c62386.png). if you'd like to talk to me, you can find me on tumblr [@spidergwenn](https://spidergwenn.tumblr.com/) and on twitter [@irlgwenstacy](https://twitter.com/irlgwenstacy). 
> 
> thank you all so much for reading! i love you, and i'll see you soon.


	19. Obsession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _you keep possessing and calling me  
>  to come where you are  
> yes, to come to you_

Happy endings were never permanent.

You were fully aware of this fact. Life had a way of ripping joy from people’s hands, plunging them back into despair and loneliness. You’d witnessed it enough times, seen enough people thrown down into the mud to never let your guard down.

Happy endings were never permanent, so you weren’t surprised when things began to go wrong.

It was slow, at first. Dick had been assigned a new partner in homicide, his number of cases slowly ramping up. He’d gone from spending every weekend with you to maybe being able to see you for a day or two once a month. You’d tried to roll with it, buried yourself in work. There were more people for you to look into every day, more interested parties and potential investors Bruce wanted to ensure were clean.

Jason had offered himself as a distraction as well. On weekends when Dick couldn’t come to see you, too swamped with work, Jason would come over. Penny loved him, always demanded attention from him when he was around. At first you simply watched movies with him; Pride and Prejudice, Emma, Much Ado About Nothing, you ran the gambit of classics until it was beginning to run dry. Then you turned to drinking with him. Even though you had changed, more monstrous than human, it only took a few glasses of wine before you were spilling your guts to him. Along with your weekly therapy sessions, you had what Jason called “girl talk” sessions Friday and Saturday nights.

If anything happened those nights that should have demanded his attention, Jason simply ignored it. Girl talk, he insisted, was more important.

When Dick did visit, he seemed exhausted, distracted. Most of your time was spent caring for him, feeding him and sleeping with him so that he could find some respite. But despite your best efforts, he always seemed just as tired when he left as when he arrived.

“You should… you should just go to see him,” Jason had drunkenly suggested one evening. His glass of Macallan 18 dangled from his fingers, head resting on your lap. “Like a surprise.”

“I don’t think he likes surprises,” you’d mumbled, nursing your own glass of zinfandel.

“It’s a big romantic gesture.” Jason took a long sip before throwing his free hand up in a dramatic gesture. “Like… a grand statement, yanno? That shit always works in movies.”

“I think I’m still banned from Bludhaven.” You sighed, carded your fingers through his hair.

“Not anymore.” Jason sat up, set his glass down to smush your cheeks in his hands. “Liliya whatever-the-fuck Koshka… as your primary babysitter and keeper, I release you from my care.”

You laughed, or at least did the best you could to laugh with him gripping your face as hard as he was.

“You’re drunk, Todd,” you pointed out.

“Drunk on how much I love you and Dick being in love!” he argued, words heavily slurred.

“Okay,” you sighed, pushing his hands away and picking up his glass. “You’re sleeping here tonight.”

Jason had argued with you the whole way to the guest room, but the moment his head hit the pillow, he was out. With a heavy sigh, you pulled off his shoes and pulled the blanket over him. When he woke up he’d have a terrible headache, but that was his problem to deal with.

However, the more you thought about his suggestion the next few days, the more you thought that maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea. Dick had surprised you a few times as a romantic gesture, so it only seemed fair for you to return the gesture. And Jason had given you permission to go back. Your old identity was all but forgotten, and with your dyed hair and color contacts, it was less likely for anyone who had known you to recognize you. For the past few weeks, you’d added glasses with false lenses to your new appearance and felt suitably secure that going back to the city wouldn’t put either of you in extreme danger.

So, while you tailed shady stockbrokers and dug up dirt through your new connections, you planned out your trip to Bludhaven and did your best not to make Dick suspicious.

\---

The Judge was patient.

Although it had been months since the ocean sent him to cleanse the city, he took his time. The casinos were ripe with corruption, men and women desperate for more, more, more. It was easy to place himself into their lives, an uncanny man wearing nice suits and giving them exactly what they wanted.

The other chosen one would join him soon. He knew it in his bones, could feel it in the air.

So, he began his culling and prepared for her arrival.

\---

Bludhaven was just as shitty as you’d remembered it being. You’d walked from the bus station to Dick’s precinct with your head lowered, dodged no less than three men who showed just a little too much interest in you. It was somehow colder than Gotham, not even the first blush of spring showing yet. You pulled your coat tighter around you as you entered the precinct, frowning. The building was bustling, both cops and criminals milling around you.

The desk sergeant didn’t even look up when you asked for Dick. Just motioned to a map of the building. Homicide was on the third floor, first division just out of the elevator. You didn’t bother to thank him, but he wouldn’t have noticed even if you had.

By the time you reached the third floor, you were starting to wonder if maybe coming there was a mistake. While the third floor was less crowded and much quieter than the front of the building had been, you found the dark stares of the detectives from their desks unnerving. You nervously adjusted your glasses, tried to locate Dick.

When your eyes met his, shock written on his face, every doubt you’d had washed away. He looked tired, had grown a thick, dark layer of stubble and his brow was creased with exhaustion, but just seeing him made you feel lighter.

The man you loved was here, he was okay. You smiled, gave a little wave, and he stood up, rushed over to you.

“Babe,” he said, hands settling on your face. “I… you didn’t tell me you were coming.”

“Surprise?” you said, voice wobbling.

Dick continued to stare at you, shocked, until a soft chuckle spilled past his lips. He bent down to kiss you, soft and sweet, and you could feel his smile against yours.

“Just when I think I have you all figured out, you find a new way to surprise me,” he mumbled against your skin. “It’s good to see you, sweetheart.”

“I missed you,” you murmured, running your fingers over his jaw, stubble rough against your skin. “It’s been almost a month.”

“God, has it really been that long?” He sighed, leaning into your touch. “Sorry.”

“I’m here now,” you grinned, “so it’s okay.”

“Who’s this?”

Dick pulled away from you, turned to the voice behind him. A woman stood behind him, brow pinched as her gaze settled on you.

“Hey, great timing!” Dick beamed, taking your hand in his. “Babe, this is my partner, Detective Catalina Flores. Flores, this is my girlfriend, Liliya Koshka.”

Flores was tall, only a few inches shorter than Dick, and built like a supermodel. Her dark hair was pulled up in a ponytail, and her dark eyes held thinly veiled resentment. The smile did not reach her eyes. You found yourself tightening your grip on Dick’s hand, feeling more than a little territorial.

“Nice to meet you finally,” she said, clearly displeased. “Grayson talks about you all the time.”

“All good things, I hope,” you said, wishing you weren’t wearing your false teeth so you could flash fangs in a warning.

“All good things,” Dick said, not at all aware of the hostility radiating from the two of you. “I’ve got a report to finish up, but then we can head out to dinner. Flores, you okay with her sitting at the empty desk next to mine?”

She shrugged, trying (and failing, in your opinion) to seem unbothered. Her eyes flicked down to your entwined hands, a dark expression flitting across her face before she went back to looking bored.

“Whatever,” she said. “Just don’t get too distracted, Grayson.”

“Got something to work on?” he asked you as Flores returned to her desk and he led you to his.

“Yep.” You hiked your backpack a bit higher on your shoulder. “Brought my laptop so I can get a little work done while you’re busy.”

“Shouldn’t take long.” Dick bent to brush a kiss against your temple before he sat back down at his desk, looking happier.

Pleased with yourself and preening a bit under the dark looks Flores shot at you, you opened up your laptop and got to work. You would have to buy a few drinks for Jason later for the brilliant idea.

\---

She was there. So close. The Judge could feel her presence.

He smiled, thumb brushing over the gold coin in his pocket.

It was time to up the ante.

\---

Skin slick with sweat, you laid on Dick’s chest and listened to the steady beat of his heart. His fingers combed idly through your hair, brushing it back from your face. You let out a soft hum, closing your eyes as his thumb skimmed over your temple.

“Your hair’s getting longer,” he murmured.

“I haven’t had time to get a haircut,” you whispered back.

“I like it.” Dick sighed, let his fingers skim down to trace over the curve of your spine. “Blond is a good look on you.”

“Mm, it’s a pain to keep up with bleaching the roots.” You hummed as his fingers came to rest at the dip low on your back, thumbs rubbing small circles against the skin.

“I’ve been a bad boyfriend,” he said. “Can’t believe it’s really been almost a month.”

“You’re not a bad boyfriend.” You lifted your head, rested your chin on his chest and opened your eyes. “You’re a busy man with a lot to deal with. If I was here, with you, it would be easier.”

“Or if I was there with you,” he countered. He brought one arm up behind his head, kept the other resting at the small of your back. “I’ve…been thinking about coming back to Gotham soon. Tim wants a change of pace and Bludhaven would give him some opportunities to grow separate from Bruce. And the police here…”

“You know that I would be happy to have you back with me.” You frowned at him, brushed your thumb over his lower lip. “But that shouldn’t be at the expense of giving up on a fight. I can always come down to see you more.”

“Things just keep getting worse here, no matter what I do.” Dick kissed the pad of your thumb, hummed when you let your fingers rest lightly on his jaw. “All these casinos going up, there’s more and more dirty money moving in and the powers that be are just glad to have something to bring tourists here.”

“If you want to let Tim have the city, let it be more of a vacation for you. A well-deserved break.” You sat up, straddling his hips and letting your hands rest on his chest. “Take some time off from the job and rest. Get your head back on straight and re-evaluate what you want.”

Hand resting on your thigh, Dick grinned up at you. You recognized the wicked light in his eyes, shivered as his fingers sank into your flesh. Even though your skin was still flushed with pleasure, he was never quite sated. The time apart had to be made up, after all.

“All I want right now,” he growled, sitting up and pulling your chest flush with his own, “is you.”

Letting out a startled laugh as he rolled you onto your back, his lips sucking another mark into the soft skin of your throat, you sighed and let the man you loved render you soft and pliant under his hands one more time.

\---

The Judge waited on the docks, watched the full moon rise further and further into the sky.

The call of the sea would find her, bring her there. If he heard it, she would as well.

So, he waited, coins heavy in his pockets, for her to arrive and the next stage of his plans to begin.

\---

Something was calling to you.

You woke up from a light doze, breath caught in your throat. Dick was fast asleep, one arm draped over your waist and his face pressed into your hair. Carefully, you slid out of bed, pausing when he let out a groan before falling silent. The exhaustion had truly gotten to him. Normally if you so much as coughed in your sleep it would wake him. Dusting a kiss against his temple, you grabbed your clothes and shuffled into the bathroom.

Getting dressed quickly and quietly, you paused just long enough to brush your fingers over the marks Dick had left on your neck. Your reflection had a fond, sappy smile. But the call was getting stronger. You weren’t sure what it was, but it was like a fishhook tugging at your chest, urging you to follow.

The moon hung full and heavy in the sky. The door closed with a quiet click behind you before you were following the call, the lure, the tug. Your feet followed an invisible path, taking you past the other townhouses that were built along the shoreline. A cool sea breeze ruffled your hair, made you pull your sweater closer around you. Bludhaven was still stuck in the limbo between winter and spring, the chill settling into your bones as you walked.

Dick would be furious if he woke up to find you gone with no explanation. But you couldn’t stop. You couldn’t resist the call. It pulled you along, a siren song to some piece of you.

The boards of the dock creaked under your feet as you came to the final steps on the journey. A man waited at the end of the docks, white suit glaringly bright in the dark night. He wore sunglasses, long dark hair pulled up in a tight bun and beard carefully trimmed. Some part of you knew him, a sinking dread in the pit of your stomach as you stopped next to him.

“It’s good to finally meet you,” he said. His voice was deep, deep as the ocean and just as rough. He did not look at you. “I’ve been waiting.”

“Who are you?” you asked. But deep down, you knew. You knew that he was just like you.

“They call me The Judge.” Finally, he turned to you. When he took off his sunglasses, your blood ran cold. His eyes were those of a snake, sclera black and irises a cold, terrible yellow. “The sea chose me like she chose you.”

“You must have me mistaken for someone else,” you whispered. You wanted to leave, but your feet wouldn’t let you. You were rooted to the spot, staring up into his terrible eyes. “I…”

“Sweetheart, there’s no way I could ever mistake you.” The Judge smiled, leaned closer to you. “A daughter of the sea, born of vengeance and blood.”

You fell silent, flinched when he reached out and wound a strand of your hair around his finger. The call fell silent, your body finally your own once more. You took a step back, hand slipping into your pocket for your phone. But he only pressed forward, slid his hand into the hair at the back of your head, gripping hard.

“You’re still young,” he said, voice low. “Scared. That’s okay. You have a lot to learn, and I can be your teacher.”

“I… I have to go.” But you were rooted in the spot by fear. Instinctively, you knew that this man had far more power than you.

“That’s fine.” The Judge let you go, but slipped a hand into his pocket and produced a shining gold coin. “But you’ll come back. We’re the same, you and I. And I can give you everything you want and more. All you have to do…is ask.”

With trembling fingers, you accepted the coin. It was warm from his pocket, shone brightly in your palm. There was a weight to it, a terrible sort of promise. When you looked up, The Judge was already gone. Fingers curling closed around the coin, you wrapped your arms around yourself and left the dock, feet dragging as you began the trek back to Dick’s house.

There was no such thing as a happy ending. You knew this, but you had let yourself believe that you’d had one, at least for a few months.

As you walked, coin warm against your palm, you knew with a horrific certainty that the fairy tale life you had lived was going to be plunged once more into a nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're back babyyyyy. short chapter, but the next few should be longer. 
> 
> i know that in the comics the judge sewed his eyes shut but tbh, that's pretty dumb. monster eyes? much more my jam. some of you may kind of realize what i'm going to set up since i've introduced catalina flores, and necessary warnings will be at the beginning of subsequent chapters. 
> 
> thank you as always for reading!! i love y'all. stay safe and stay healthy.


	20. Paradise Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: brief consensual sexual content at beginning of chapter; aftermath of sexual assault, non-explicit discussion of sexual assault, vomiting, emotional distress. **if you could be triggered by discussion of sexual assault, please be careful engaging with this chapter.**
> 
> _they're lies_  
>  _all set to shake you up_  
>  _stop, stop, **stop, s t o p**_

When Dick woke the next morning, your heart felt cold with the kiss he pressed against the back of your neck. He had slept so deeply that he didn’t notice you’d left and come back. Hand pressed over your belly, he pulled you back against him, breath warm where it fanned over your skin.

“Morning, baby,” he whispered, lips brushing over your pulse.

“Good morning.” Although your fingers wove through his, all you could think of was the gold coin tucked away in your backpack. “Sleep well?”

“Best sleep I’ve had in months.” Dick tucked his face against your throat with a soft groan. “Missed sleeping with you.”

“Mm, I can tell.” You gasped as his teeth grazed over a sensitive spot on your neck. “Ah, already, моє сонечко? Don’t you have work?”

The man was insatiable. His hips pressed against yours, erection heavy. You bit back a moan, his hand drifting to your hip.

“It’s okay if I get in a little late,” he said, voice low. “You’re more important. Are you leaving today?”

“No,” you moaned. His fingers had drifted to your thigh, pulling your leg back over his hip to spread you open. “Thought I would… would stay another night.”

Your voice broke on another moan, his fingers dipping inside of you, finding you already warm and soaking. Shuddering, you pressed your face into the pillow. It didn’t take long for him to slip inside you, the stretch a delicious ache. Your fingers curled in the sheets, skin flushing as Dick took his time with you. With his chest pressed against your back, you could feel the frantic beating of his heart, little noises muted against where he pressed kisses to your shoulder. His name was a stuttering thing that fell from your parted lips, warmth bursting under your skin as his thumb rolled against your clit. It was lazy, sloppy, sleepy.

It distracted you from the snake-like eyes that had invaded your dreams. For those long, blissful moments, you let yourself pretend that everything would be okay.

Dick came inside of you with a deep, broken moan, sending you over the edge only a moment after. Both of you lay panting, skin sticky with sweat, blankets tangled around your limbs. When he slipped out you whined, finally turning to face him. His thumb brushed over your flushed cheek, his gaze warm.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“Love you, too,” you whispered back, brushing your lips against his. “Always.”

“Don’t wanna go to work.” He sighed, captured your lips in another sloppy kiss. Then another, chest pressed to yours. “Wanna stay here, with you.”

“As much as I would love that, you need to go.” Smiling, you wiggled away, pressing a finger over his lips when they chased after yours. “If you go shower, I’ll make breakfast for you.”

With a heavy sigh, he finally relented. Slipping out of bed, he yawned and stretched his arms over his head. Propping yourself up on an elbow, you admired the musculature of his back, the way his broad shoulders tapered into a strong waist and hips. You had been careful not to leave any marks, restrained yourself from raking sharp claws down his back and chest.

Dick did not show the same level of restraint with you, and you knew you’d be wearing high collared shirts and scarves for several days.

Once he was in the shower, you climbed out of bed. Although you were sore, legs still a little shaky, you pulled on panties and stole one of his shirts from the closet to wear. Padding down the hall, you pulled eggs from the fridge, located a loaf of bread, started up the coffee pot, and got to work. By the time he had come to the kitchen, hair still damp and wearing a suit for work, you had toast, scrambled eggs, and a fresh cup of coffee ready for him. Dick bent down to press a quick kiss to your temple, taking the plate you offered him with a pleased hum.

“God, I missed you,” he said through a mouthful of food.

“You only say that because I give you food and sex,” you simpered, hopping up to sit on the counter and taking a sip of your coffee.

“Those are just added benefits,” Dick countered. When he shoved a whole piece of toast in his mouth, you hid your smile behind your mug. “The real treat is just you.”

“You’re awfully sappy this morning,” you giggled.

“Just happy, that’s all.” Dick finished off his food, taking a long swig of his coffee. “I’m always happy when I wake up next to you.”

“Actually being able to sleep probably helped, too,” you added.

Dick put his dishes in the sink, downing the rest of his coffee before he moved to stand in front of you. Spreading your legs so that he could fit between them, you let out a pleased hum when he bent down to give you a slow, lingering kiss. Fingers still wrapped around your mug, you tipped your head into his hand as he cupped your jaw. He lingered, lips tasting of coffee, until he finally pulled away with a heavy sigh.

“Time to go to work?” you murmured, setting aside the mug to smooth his hair back from his face.

“Unfortunately.” Dick sighed again, let his fingers skim up your thighs before reluctantly taking a step back. “I’ll try to get home early, but—”

“No promises.” You gave him small smile. You’d expected it. “It’s okay, Dick. I’ve got work I can do remotely. Lots to do in Bludhaven, anyway.”

“Okay, just be—”

“Be careful,” you interrupted. “I know.”

With a fond smile, Dick tucked your hair behind your ear and made his way to the front door. You followed him, helped him get his coat on and wrapped his scarf snugly around his neck. After one last kiss, he left for work. You stood in the doorway until the cold set in, a small shiver travelling down your spine before you closed the door.

Pulling out your laptop, you settled down to get some work done and left your phone in the bedroom so you couldn’t get too distracted.

\---

You should have known better than to climb into the tub. When you did, you always ended up drifting off to sleep. But your scales were beginning to get dry, and you suspected that Dick would be home late, anyways. Setting your phone within reach, you stripped down and slipped into the tub, water pleasantly warm.

It was a testament to how tired you were that you were sleeping after only five minutes.

In your dreams, you were floating in the Bludhaven bay. Ancient voices whispered in your ear, warned of things that slept at the bottom of the sea and should never be allowed to awaken. Fish brushed against you, seaweed tangled around your limbs, and glowing eyes peered up at you from the depths. A gold coin floated down from the surface, your hand reaching out for it. But once you’d let it come to rest in your palm, the eyes grew closer and closer, blood welling from the coin and spilling from your hands until the water ran red.

You woke with a startled cry, splashing water over the edge of the tub when you sat up. Heart racing, you pushed wet hair back from your face and tried to set aside the fear that pumped through your veins.

You shouldn’t have taken the coin. You shouldn’t have followed the call. Sinking back into the water, you rubbed at your sore thighs, tried to focus on loosening yourself back up instead of the taste of blood that lingered at the back of your mouth. Of course, it didn’t work. By the time you stepped out of the tub, gently patting your skin dry, your fingers itched to find the coin you’d tucked away.

Slipping into your pajamas, you picked up your phone before heading back towards the bathroom. Jason had sent you a few texts with pictures of Penny (who did not seem at all distressed about you not being there, the little traitor), along with a reminder that you definitely owed him a beer. Bruce had sent an email acknowledging receipt of the work you had done. There was no text from Dick, but you did have a missed call and a voicemail. With a frown, you realized that you had been asleep for much longer than you’d thought and skipped the voicemail.

With the gold coin sitting heavy in your hand, you called Dick back.

“Kitten!” he cried as a greeting, barely holding back a laugh.

“Dick?” You frowned, sitting on the floor. Wherever he was, it was loud, and you swore you could hear a bit of a slur in his words. “Where are you?”

“We got a big break on a case,” he yelled back. “So, the captain took us out for drinks.”

“That’s great!” you lied. Sure, you were glad that he had gotten a big break. And sure, you were glad that he still had a great relationship with his co-workers. But something didn’t sit right with you. “I’m sorry I missed your call earlier, I fell asleep.”

“That’s okay.” He sounded so happy, you felt guilt settle heavy in your stomach. “I’m just gonna have one more drink and then I’ll come home, okay?”

“Don’t worry about it,” you said, trying to force a smile into your voice. “Have fun, but be safe, okay?”

“Okay.” Dick let out a soft sigh. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Dick.” You let your fingers curl around the coin. “Text me when you leave.”

You could hear someone on his end, tone annoyed. Dick covered the phone partially, muffling his own response. Frown deepening, you clutched your phone a little tighter. There was the muffled sound of laughter, then his voice again.

“I’ve gotta go, babe,” he said. “But I’ll let you know when I head home.”

“Okay. Be caref—”

The rest of your response was cut off when you realized he’d hung up.

Jealousy wasn’t your thing. You think it looked ugly on others, and knew it looked uglier on you. Besides, you trusted Dick. He loved you, let you know he did as frequently as he could. The problem was that you didn’t trust other people. Mood curdling, you remembered the dark looks Flores had shot your way the day before.

You trusted Dick, but you also knew that he was a people pleaser. There had been people who had taken advantage of that fact before, and you could only hope that it wouldn’t happen again.

“Don’t be silly,” you muttered to yourself.

But the coin rested just a little too heavy in your hand, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was brewing on the horizon.

\---

Several hours later, Dick still had not come home.

You’d settled on the couch, barely paying attention to the baking show you’d put on the TV. As time passed, your worry grew. You’d made coffee, gulped it down to make sure you stayed awake.

All you wanted was to make sure that he was okay.

The texts you’d sent to him asking for an update had gone unanswered. When you called, you went straight to voicemail.

By the time midnight rolled around, you were certain that you were going insane with concern. You didn’t know any of his co-workers, couldn’t call them and make sure that he was okay.

Maybe he’d just lost track of time. Maybe his phone had died, so he couldn’t get in touch with you.

Another hour passed and you were pacing the house like a caged animal.

You were just being silly, that was all. Dick was allowed to have fun, to build relationships with his colleagues. Maybe he’d had a little too much to drink and had forgotten to let you know that he was going to be late.

Honestly, you were getting tired of all the maybes.

Just as you were grabbing a coat and preparing yourself to go out and search every bar that you could find, your phone rang. Tripping over yourself to get to it, you felt your heart stop when you saw Dick’s name on the screen. You answered, willing yourself to breathe.

“Dick?” you said, voice thick. Then, after a moment of silence: “Hello?”

The first thing you heard was a shaking inhale. Then, your blood ran cold when you heard a muffled sob. Snatching your scarf, you ran out the door, not bothering to lock it. Potential burglary was very low on your list of things to worry about.

“Dick, where are you?” you asked, already sprinting down the sidewalk.

“McNellie’s,” he choked out. “In the back.”

The bar was only a few minutes away from the townhouse if you ran. So you did, ignoring the sting of the cold concrete and asphalt against your bare feet. You probably looked insane, sprinting down the street in fluffy pajama pants with no shoes on, coat and scarf haphazardly thrown on. But you didn’t care.

The only thing you cared about was making sure Dick was okay.

“Stay on the phone, okay?” you panted, rounding a corner and nearly slamming into a couple. You ignored their anger as you kept running. “I’m just a few minutes away.”

You tried to take comfort in hearing his shaking, shallow breaths. Dick wasn’t okay, but he was alive. You could work with that. But as you got closer to the bar, lungs screaming and legs burning, you were afraid to know what had happened. Could someone have mugged him? If he was drunk, his reflexes would have been slow enough that he might not have been able to protect himself. Had the whole celebration just been a cover to assault him, threaten him?

By the time you reached the bar, you were out of breath.

“Here,” you gasped into the phone. Then you hung up.

The place was closed, so you had to navigate around the building until you got to the back alley. You saw a figure slumped against the wall, head in his hands, and felt yourself go cold all over again.

“Dick…” Your voice was a whisper at first. Then you were sprinting towards him, throwing yourself to the ground in front of him. “Dick,” you sobbed.

He wouldn’t look at you. As your eyes adjusted to the light, you realized why. His coat had been shoved off his shoulders, hung from his elbows. His shirt was still unbuttoned, pants and belt undone. You could see marks left on his chest and stomach from someone’s nails.

The worst part was the blood red lipstick smeared on his skin and the lingering smell of perfume.

There was a puddle of vomit not far from him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice thick with tears. “I’m sorry.”

For a long, terrible moment, you couldn’t move. What were you supposed to do? You wanted to hold him, to tell him that it was okay. But you were terrified that just touching him could make the whole thing worse. Taking a deep breath, you scooted closer to him, laid a hesitant hand on his knee.

“Is it okay if I help you get fully dressed again?” you asked.

He nodded. You tried hard not to let the shaking in your fingers show as you straightened his clothes, buttoned him back up and took off your scarf to drape it around his neck. Dick shivered and you pulled his coat tighter around him.

He still couldn’t look you in the eye, and it broke your heart.

“I think we should take you to the hospital,” you murmured.

“No.” He shook his head, took a deep, shaking breath. “Just…wanna go home.”

“Dick,” you said, as gently as you could, “I really think—”

“Please.” Finally, he looked up at you. His eyes were glazed, bloodshot, swollen. “Just take me home.”

You wanted to push the issue. If you just took him home, what you knew had happened to him couldn’t be officially recorded. You couldn’t press charges. They would get away with it. But you knew you couldn’t push any harder.

And you knew that you could punish the person who did this to him yourself.

So, you didn’t push him to do the right thing. You let your heart cave in. You helped him to his feet, let him lean against you as you helped him stagger home. The smell of alcohol was still heavy on his breath, his movements uncoordinated. Both of you were silent as you walked, him stewing in drunken guilt and the assault he had endured, you feeling the rage growing hot in your chest with each step that you took.

Once you were inside, he finally spoke.

“Can you… can you help me shower?” His voice was small, head turned away from you.

“Of course.”

You helped him into the bathroom, paused and waited until he gave you a small nod before you helped him out of his clothes. Body curved in on itself, he was silent as you stripped to your underwear and stepped into the shower with him. As gently as you could, you washed the lipstick from his skin. You made a note of each mark on him, from teeth and nails. When he bent his head, you shampooed his hair, nails scraping gently over his scalp. You stood in the shower with him as he simply let the water cascade over his skin, rubbed at his arms and his chest even though there was nothing else to wash off.

The rage inside of you only grew and grew. But you refused to let it show.

When he stumbled out of the shower, bent over the toilet and vomited again, you knelt next to him and rubbed his back. You flushed it, cleaned his face, let his fingers grip your wrists with a desperation that had your heart breaking all over again.

“I thought she was you, at first,” he whispered. “I was… everything was so faded. I couldn’t say no. I couldn’t… Couldn’t stop it…”

“It’s okay.” You swallowed your own tears, let him press his forehead against your shoulder. “It’s not your fault.”

Dick shuddered, let you pat him dry with a towel and lead him to the bedroom. You helped him step into a pair of pajama pants, helped him pull on a shirt. Gently, gently as you could, you helped him lie down in bed, pulled the blankets over him. You brushed hair back from his face, watched his eyes drift closed.

“I’ll be right back,” you whispered.

When he let out a small grunt, you stood and pulled jeans and a sweater from your bag. You pulled them on, moved quietly to the kitchen. Grabbed a glass of water, shook out two painkillers. When you returned to the bedroom, you quietly helped Dick lift his head enough to take the pills and drink the entire glass of water. When he laid back down, squeezed his eyes shut, you sat on the edge of the bed next to him. His hand sought yours, fingers lacing with your own.

“Do you remember who did this?” you asked him.

Part of you knew that maybe you shouldn’t have asked so soon after. Maybe you should have waited, let him tell you himself. But you had to know.

“Catalina,” he whispered. His face cracked, expression falling into hurt and betrayal and tears tracking down his cheeks.

The rage boiled over. You held his hand, wiped the tears from his face, waited quietly until he’d cried himself to sleep. You tucked him in, put another glass of water on the table next to him. Counted his breaths, watched him fall deeper and deeper into sleep.

Then you got up, retrieved the gold coin, swiped his keys, and locked the front door behind you.

Thunder rumbled overhead, lightning flashing before the rain started. You kept walking, still barefoot, let the rain soak you to the bone. But you did not shiver. The coin was warm in your hand as you made your way to the boardwalk. You sat on a bench, hatred boiling your blood, and waited.

It didn’t take long.

“Rage is a good look on you,” The Judge said.

He sat down on the bench next to you, holding his umbrella over both your heads. A pointless gesture, given how drenched you were. You didn’t say anything, just held the coin up to him. Terrible glee lit up his face as he took it from you.

“You’ve decided to join me, then?” he asked.

“One condition.” You stared right into his snake eyes, felt the rage and the hatred boil over and turn your voice into a snarl.

“What would that be?”

“You help me kill Catalina Flores,” you snarled. “Do that, and I’ll do whatever you ask of me.”

A deal with the devil. Whatever he was up to, you felt in your gut that it was nothing good. But you didn’t care.

Even if you were dragged to the depths of hell, you would be glad to know you’d done it for the man you loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so. this is going to be a long author's note, and a little more serious and heart-to-heart than the ones that came before.
> 
> i was very uncertain about whether i should actually go through with this plotline or not. i think that dick's existence as a victim of sexual assault that was shown to actively be horrific and have an emotional toll on him pre!new 52 is really important. i also think that dc getting cold feet and then making his attacker a LOVE INTEREST for him and backpedaling to say that he was somehow able to consent when the attack happened while he was actively having a panic attack and near catatonic is one of the more heinous things editorial review has done. 
> 
> i am a survivor of sexual assault. i have struggled with it because i was blackout drunk at the time that it happened and i did not actively resist the advances of my attacker. i read the storyline where dick was assaulted after that happened to me and the rage has stuck with me. i want to do right by him, and explore our trauma in a constructive way.
> 
> if this is going to be too much for you, and you don't want to read any further, i promise my feelings won't be hurt. the next few chapters are probably gonna be a bit raw for me, and i don't blame anyone who doesn't want to read something with difficult subjects in it during this turbulent time. but if you stick with me, i hope that i won't disappoint you. and i hope that i can do right by dick.
> 
> thank you for reading. i love you guys. be good to yourselves. be kind.


	21. Bloodsport

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: some victim blaming (self-inflicted), discussion of sexual assault, mention of abortion, mention of suicide, emotional distress, unhealthy coping mechanisms 
> 
> _i'm on all fours  
>  willingly damned_

The most difficult part of the whole situation, at least for you, was keeping your rage in check.

There was nothing to be gained from losing your temper, or from tracking the woman down and ripping her throat out with your teeth to just get it over with. You had to be smart about it. If there was one thing you had learned in the past few months, it was that when you were angry, you tended to do stupid things.

Not to mention the fact that being angry did nothing to help Dick.

He was still asleep when you returned to his house, breathing even. You sat on the edge of the bed, watched him. There was a twitch, a stuttering exhale, sweat beading on his forehead. A nightmare. You were all too familiar with them. Uncertain, you began to reach for him before deciding against it. Nightmares or not, he needed his sleep.

Moving to sit in the chair at the corner of the room, you settled in for the night, scrolling through your phone and trying to keep alert in case Dick woke up. Slowly, you began to doze off, startling back awake when you heard a soft groan from the bed. In a heartbeat you were out of your chair and kneeling by the side of the bed, taking Dick’s hand when he reached out for you.

“How do you feel?” you murmured, thumb rubbing circles against the back of his hand.

“Terrible,” he croaked, eyes red-rimmed and swollen. “Exhausted. Hungover as shit.”

Forcing a smile, you helped him sit up and handed him the glass of water you’d set next to him.

“Here, drink this,” you said. “I’ll get some more aspirin for you.”

Once he had taken the glass from you, you quickly retrieved the bottle of aspirin, shaking out two pills and handing them to him. His movements were sluggish, as if he were underwater. Chugging the entire glass of water, Dick handed the empty glass back to you. You realized that he still couldn’t look you in the eye, heart sinking.

“I think you should call in today,” you told him. “Take some time to… recover.”

“You’re probably right.” Dick sighed, rubbed at his temples as his eyes drifted shut. “I don’t know if… if I could face her.”

That wouldn’t be an issue for him for long. But you couldn’t tell him that. Instead, you gently smoothed his hair out, prepared to pull back if he flinched. To his credit, he didn’t. Dick reached for his phone and you left the room, heading to the kitchen to get breakfast prepared. While you crumbled sausage and chopped vegetables to make an omelet, you found your thoughts drifting.

What would you tell him you were doing when you were out of the house? How would you hide your tracks to make sure nothing led back to him or Wayne? What information could the Judge even give to you? Or would he simply deliver her to you? You weren’t sure which you preferred. On one hand, getting it over with quickly would ensure that Dick would never have to face the bitch again. On the other hand, you wanted the satisfaction of taking your time to hunt her down. To slowly back her into a corner until you could finish her off.

Attention wandering, the knife slipped and you hissed as it cut deep into your finger. Cursing under your breath, you set the knife down and stuck your finger in your mouth, sucking at the blood. You could hear Dick’s voice vaguely from the bedroom, words low and muffled. Once the blood flow stopped, you beat the eggs and began to assemble the omelet. By the time you were plating it, you heard him shuffling into the kitchen.

“You didn’t have to get up,” you told him, watching closely as he sat down at the small table. “I was going to bring the food to you.”

“I wanted to get up and moving,” he mumbled. “Thanks for the food.”

“Of course.” You set the plate down in front of him before turning back to start a pot of coffee. “That should help you feel better quickly.”

While he slowly began to eat, you set out another glass of water for him and poured yourself a cup of coffee. Your finger stung, but you ignored it, sliding into the chair across from him. Dick chugged the water before finishing off the omelet. A bit of color had returned to his face, his fingers no longer shaking as he gently set the fork down on the plate and slid down the chair.

“Are you okay?” you asked, trying to keep your voice gentle.

“No,” Dick said after a long moment of contemplative silence. “I don’t think I am.”

What were you supposed to do? How were you supposed to make it better? In the long run, you knew the solution. But there, in the moment? You were terribly uncertain. Although you had been with Dick for months, you drew a blank when it came to comforting him. Would touching him make it worse? What were you supposed to say? You’d gone through your own assault on your own, so you had no reference point for the right steps to take. Taking a deep breath, you stretched your hand out towards him, palm up.

“What can I do to help?” you asked.

Better to ask than to assume. The Doctor had taught you that sometimes, asking for help was okay. Offering it was even better. The days where you could have simply shrugged off other people’s problems were long gone. You were in it for the long run, when it came to Dick.

Slowly, he reached out and placed his hand in yours, fingers curling loosely around your own.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, eyes unfocused. “I just… I’m glad you stayed.”

“Of course I stayed,” you said, brow furrowed. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Dick sighed, closing his eyes and clutching your hand a little tighter.

“I just… I’m wondering if it’s my fault,” he mumbled. “Maybe I was a little too friendly, or I gave off the wrong signals—”

“It’s not your fault,” you interrupted, anger almost boiling over. Your voice was clipped as you leaned forward, bringing up your other hand so that you were clasping his between your palms. “моє сонечко, none of it is your fault. Please don’t blame yourself.”

“You’re being too kind, kitten,” Dick told you, letting his eyes open. The pain in his half-hearted smile cracked the pieces of your already broken heart. “If you keep being nice, I’m going to get worried.”

“I’m always nice,” you snapped. Then, after a moment, “to you, anyways.”

The incredulous look he gave you only made you pout, but his smile at least seemed a little bit more sincere. Leaning over the table, you brought his hand up to dust a kiss over his calloused knuckles. Dick sighed, a bit of tension bleeding from his shoulders.

“Anything you need,” you whispered against his skin, “I’m here. I’ll always be here. No matter what.”

“What did I do to deserve you?” Dick asked, voice breaking. His eyes shone with choked back tears, hands slipping up to cradle your jaw as you moved to crouch next to him.

“You’re an amazing man, Dick Grayson,” you reminded him. You let your eyes close, leaning into his touch. “You deserve only the best.”

“I love you so much,” he managed to choke out.

Standing up, you pulled him into an embrace, his face pressed into your chest and his fingers clutching the back of your shirt in a death grip. You could feel him shaking as you gently combed your fingers through his hair, let him cry quietly against you.

“I love you, too,” you told him. “Always.”

Catalina Flores, you decided in that moment, was doomed to a slow and painful death.

\---

It took a while to coax Dick back into bed, kisses brushed over his cheeks and nose and gentle touches to his back and shoulders as you convinced him that he needed to sleep. He’d tried to get you to join him, but you’d turned him down as gently as you could. While you wanted more than anything to hold him, to soothe him, there was work to be done. You gave him a lame excuse of needing to pick up a few things for yourself since your stay had been extended. As weak as it was, he still accepted it easily.

Guilt made your heart heavy in your chest as you watched him drift back into a troubled sleep.

You wanted to stay with him. But you’d made a promise, and you couldn’t back out of it. Not now. Leaving a brief note on the side table in case he woke up while you were still gone, you gathered what The Judge had instructed you to bring.

A dust mask, to cover the bottom half of your face. A large hoodie, to disguise your build and to hide your hair. No contacts, so the new gold color of yours eyes shone through. Your phone, so you could record any conversations that occurred. And a knife, slipped into your boot. While you were a weapon in your own right, you suspected that you might need the blade for a different purpose.

After only a brief moment of hesitation, you once again stole Dick’s keys, leaving him alone in the house.

You were doing this for a good reason, you told yourself. You were making sure that justice would be done.

But with each step closer to The Judge’s silent call to you, you wondered if that was really true.

Maybe you were lying to yourself.

You refused to even entertain that line of thought. Perhaps you were a monster, one who could eat a man without blinking an eye. But Flores was something worse than a monster. A person who exploited trust and took advantage of those who couldn’t defend themselves. You thought of Dick, the guilt in his eyes and the way he couldn’t quite look at you.

No. Catalina Flores had to die by your hand.

The Judge met you at one of the old meatpacking plants, his crisp white suit standing out against the dark, dingy buildings. Your dust mask was tucked under your chin as you approached him, hands in the pockets of your hoodie. With your all black clothes, you made a strange mirror image of the man grinning at you.

“Good to see you decided to really follow through,” he said, flipping a gold coin in the air and catching it effortlessly. “Are you prepared to learn?”

“I am,” you told him. “What’s the first step?”

“The first step,” he said, slipping the coin in his pocket and stepping closer to you, “is making sure any connections to your target won’t raise a fuss. The woman you’re so angry at has some pretty powerful friends, little one.”

You grunted, eyes narrowing at the nickname.

“Like who?” you asked.

“Her brother is an assistant district attorney,” The Judge said casually. “Thankfully, he’s one of the corrupt ones, so we have some leverage over him.”

“Hm.” You frowned, following him as he made his way through the ruins. “So, are you just going to kill him, or…?”

The Judge laughed, reaching over to give your shoulder a small pat. The gesture made your skin crawl, but you did your best to hide your reaction. As you walked, you pulled up your dust mask again to cover your face.

“No, that’s just too much effort, and far too messy,” he told you. “The best way to deal justice to those with corrupt hearts is to convince them to end their lives themselves.”

“What,” you said, “you just… make them commit suicide?”

Your skepticism, you felt, was merited in this situation. How could you just… make someone want to die? You didn’t have any sort of psychic powers, so it wasn’t like you could just plant a suggestion in someone’s mind. Was he able to? If that was the case, then quite frankly, you weren’t sure what exactly his plan was here. Even with your ability to compel someone with your voice, they wouldn’t truly be conscious of their choice to die. All you could do was trick them into it, watch them have that terrible realization in the last moments before their life ended.

“Some of them, yes,” he told you. “Some of them, I simply convince to self-destruct in a way that is far worse than death. And no, I’m not controlling their minds they way you can compel someone with your voice. They’re clear and cognizant when they make their decisions.”

“Then how do you do it?”

“Simple. You find the worst parts of their minds, hearts, and souls, and lay it out before them to witness.”

You weren’t convinced. But, you supposed, you were about to witness whether he was full of shit or truly as powerful as he seemed to be. Rounding a corner, you caught sight of Mateo Flores. He paced back and forth in front of what had once been a butcher’s station, scuffing his expensive shoes and adjusting his silk tie. You’d run into the man once, back when you were doing a story on potential links between organized crime and the district attorney’s office. You hadn’t connected him with his sister, but it made sense that the whole family line would be rotten. Eyes narrowing, you pulled your hood up further as you both approached.

“What the fuck is this about?” Mateo demanded, cheeks flushed with anger and dark eyes wild. Now that you were up close, you could see the family resemblance.

“Let’s not play games here, Mateo,” The Judge said in a deceptively friendly tone, his hands spread at his side. “You received my message. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want to make sure those pictures weren’t leaked.”

“And who the fuck is that?” he asked angrily, motioning towards you.

“My bodyguard,” The Judge said.

If it was physically possible, you were pretty sure that Mateo Flores’ head would have exploded right then and there. He was furious, hands clenched into tight fists as he stormed towards The Judge, his jaw clenched. You casually stepped in front of The Judge, comfortable in taking over the role he’d assigned you for the moment.

“Listen here, you fuck,” he snarled, glaring between you and the man behind you. “You’re going to give me the fucking pictures and then maybe I won’t think about having someone rip your dick off and shove it down your throat. If you think that you can threaten me, you’re—”

“What about that third girl? What was her name… Kim?” The Judge sighed. “Such a sweet girl. A shame that she took her own life so young.”

You watched the color drain from Mateo’s face.

“But you took quite a bit of pleasure in destroying her reputation when she made those allegations against you, didn’t you?” The Judge pressed on. “Threatened to have her killed if she didn’t abort the baby that you put in her without her consent. Turned her family and friends against her. Prepared to file suit against her for “false” claims that could damage your reputation. It must have been such a relief when she shot herself so that you didn’t have to go through the time and effort and cost of hiring someone to do it.”

“You can’t prove anything,” he spat.

“It’s nice to know that the coroner made sure to note that she was pregnant in the autopsy that you had suppressed,” he continued. “And that poor secretary of yours, Aiko. Sweet girl. So scared of that NDA you had her sign, but still quite happy to talk about all the things she’s seen you do. Poor thing just wanted to get out the rot that you put inside of her. How long have you been taking advantage of her, too? A few months? A few years.”

“Shut up!” Flores roared, lunging for The Judge.

Tentacles unsheathing themselves from your lower back, you restrained him with a pulsing limb around his throat while the others constricted his arms to his torso before he could strike. The man went down hard, pupils blown wide with fear when he stared up at you from the dirt. You only glared at him, silent as you tightened your grip hard enough to hear one of his ribs crack.

“Come now, Mateo,” The Judge sighed. He stepped around you, crouching down next to the writhing man. “You’re smarter than that. You don’t have any way to wriggle out of this one. The law can’t touch us, and none of the men you’ve relied on to keep your hands from getting dirty can come after us. Just admit what you’ve done.”

“Fuck you,” he spat.

You squeezed a little harder, getting a vicious thrill out of the pained cry he let out.

“There’s no escape from it this time, Mateo.” The Judge forced the other man to look at him, removing his sunglasses. “How hard do you think you’ll fall when this all comes out? The prime candidate for district attorney, secretly a serial rapist. Not only that, but one who works hand in hand with the notorious Blockbuster and has hired men to take out his opponents and people who have dirt on him. You’ll lose your job. You’ll lose your house, your respect. Blockbuster will cut all ties with you. And Catalina…” He sighed, shaking his head. “The poor girl will go down with you, too. That record of sexual misconduct and the murder of unarmed suspects will ruin her, too.”

“What do you want?” Mateo managed to wheeze.

“It’s quite simple.” The Judge smiled, teeth flashing in the overcast light. “You keep quiet and let my bodyguard here take care of your sister, and we’ll let you end your disgusting life without any information leaking out to the press.”

Subconsciously, you tensed. After all, who wouldn’t get defensive when asked to give up their sister? Even after all your brother had done… if he’d still been alive, you wouldn’t have given him up. You were prepared for him to fight, to refuse.

Instead, Mateo heaved a heavy sigh.

“Fine,” he grunted. “Just tell this bitch to let me go.”

Shocked, you glanced up at The Judge. He waved a hand dismissively. With a bitter taste in your mouth, you let your limbs unwind from around him, retracting into your back. Mateo coughed, scowling up at you before staggering to his feet and looking back at The Judge.

“If you think this is done, you’re insane,” he spat. “But fine. Your little monster has a vendetta against my sister, that’s not my problem anymore. But the rest of this isn’t over.”

You stepped back, watching the cruel grin grow on The Judge’s face. He offered Mateo one of his gold coins.

“Oh Mateo,” he purred, “it wouldn’t be fun if it was that easy. You just let my pet have her fun, and we can worry about the rest later.”

His pet. A bodyguard. Such dismissive language. Maybe you should have been offended. But you also realized that at that moment, you were reliant upon The Judge. Not only that, but he was delivering what you wanted to you on a sliver platter. Months previously, you would have disemboweled both of them for presuming that you were so weak, so easily used.

But now? Now, you had Dick to think of. Dick, who was waiting for you at home. Dick, who was so clearly hurting. Dick, who you would sell your soul for. Who you _had_ sold your soul for.

You remained quiet as the two men faced off, their egos clashing. Swallowing your pride, you waited for Mateo to take the coin and stalk off before The Judge turned to you.

“What have you learned?” he asked you.

That he was a sociopath. That he manipulated people and drove them to suicide. That the ocean had chosen him for much the same reason it had chosen you: both of you were bloodthirsty, craving some kind of justice for what had happened to you. More than that, you had learned that you were a tool. Physically dangerous where he could not be. A bargaining chip.

“I don’t know,” you lied.

The Judge frowned, tilting his sunglasses down. You couldn’t look him in the eye, couldn’t bear that reptilian gaze.

“Think on it,” he told you. His cold fingers pulled down your mask, his face close to yours. You stiffened as he grinned at you, thumb grazing over your cheekbone. “Just remember, little one. You agreed to this pact. Don’t let something as silly as love limit you.”

“Of course not.” You grinned at him, tried to smother the rage you felt.

It was hard to tell if it worked. Frankly, it was hard to tell if anything phased the man. The Judge heaved another heavy sigh, shaking his head.

“You still have so much to learn,” he lamented. “But we’ll get there eventually. For now, little one, the sister is yours. Do what you will. Try to use what I’ve taught you. And once you’ve claimed your sacrifice, I’ll call upon my favor.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but once you’d blinked, The Judge was gone. Not even his presence lingered. A chill crawled down your spine, and you took a deep breath before slowly trudging towards downtown Bludhaven.

\---

By the time you returned to Dick’s house, the sun had long since set. You had grocery bags bundled in your arms, phone tucked into your shoulder as you spoke to Jason.

“Hold up,” he said, voice faint as you struggled to straighten your phone and also wrestle approximately a dozen brown bags of groceries into Dick’s house. “You only told me you’d be there for a couple of days. What happened?”

“Extenuating circumstances, Jay,” you explained, shutting the door with your hip and lowering your voice as you walked into the kitchen. “I just… I need to stay here for a few more days, okay? Bruce has already approved the time off. Could you please just take care of Penny for a few more days?”

Jason fell so quiet on the other end that you had to glance at the phone to make sure that the call hadn’t dropped. After you’d deposited the bags on the counter, he finally spoke up.

“Is… Is Dick okay?” he asked.

“He isn’t injured,” you said after a moment of hesitation. “But… honestly, Jay, I don’t know if he’s okay.”

“What happened?” You could hear the panic in his voice.

“I… If Dick wants to tell you, I’ll let him. But just… please help me out with this, okay?”

“Yeah.” He sighed. “You know I’ve got your back, dude. I know that you’re going to, but take care of him, yeah? Dick’s real bad about not letting people help him when he’s going through a bad time. He internalizes shit.”

“I know.” You sighed, closing your eyes and slumping against the counter. “I’ll take care of him. Give Penny a few belly rubs for me.”

“Will do.”

Ending the call, you ran your hands over your face with a heavy sigh. The house was quiet, the silence almost stifling. For the moment, you were alone with your thoughts. And they weren’t good company. Were you really doing the right thing? How long was The Judge going to be around? If Dick found out what you were doing, how badly would he react? More than that, how could you help him when you yourself felt like you were falling apart on the inside?

“You’re back.”

Jumping, you whipped around to see Dick shuffling into the kitchen. His voice was heavy with sleep, eyes still unfocused as he yawned.

“I’m back,” you confirmed, forcing a little smile. “Looks like you got a lot of sleep.”

“Some,” he sighed. “Did some work from home, too. Tim said he’d come up for a few days to help out on the streets. I think… I think I just need a break from Nightwing.”

“I think that’s a good decision.” You turned back to the groceries, putting them away and trying not to feel nervous with Dick’s gaze on you. “Sorry I was gone for a while.”

“It’s okay.” Dick finally stepped forward once you were done putting away the food, wrapping his arms around you from behind and pressing his face into your shoulder. You could feel his fingers curl into the fabric of your hoodie, the deep breath he took to soak in your presence. “I’m just… I’m glad you’re back.”

Oh. The sound of your heart shattering all over again rang deep within you. You placed a hand on his arm, resting your head against his. Even with the note, he’d been scared that you’d just… left. While part of you was a little offended, you knew that he wasn’t thinking straight. Although he was hiding it, you could tell from the way he shook that his emotions were a volatile storm. You let him just quietly hold you for a while, closing your eyes and listening to his breathing slowly begin to even out.

“I’m not leaving you,” you promised him. “Ever. Even if you want me to, you’re stuck with me, Dick.”

“Thank you,” he mumbled against your skin.

“Of course.” You sighed, carefully untangling yourself from his embrace and trying to smile. “Ready for dinner?”

Despite how hard you were trying, you couldn’t even convince yourself that you were cheerful. Even as you busied yourself with preparing a hearty soup, you felt like you were slowly, painfully bleeding out.

\---

Later, tucked into bed with Dick, his arms wrapped tight around you and his breath washing over the back of your neck, you cried as quietly as you could. Dick didn’t wake up, and you pressed your hands over your face as you shook with gentle, silent sobs.

Nothing was okay, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that something terrible was waiting just around the corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i.... don't know if i like this chapter. but i was getting tired of just staring at it so. here you go. 
> 
> if you aren't reading my other fic Mad Dog, here is a little update for you guys: i got furloughed from my job, effective at the beginning of may and all the way until july (at the very least). trying to figure out how to pay for my health insurance and wrestling with unemployment has been mentally and emotionally taxing. since this fic delves into some very personal topics for me, updates are not going to be very regular. thank you guys so much for your patience. if you want to follow me elsewhere you can find me on:
> 
> [tumblr](https://spidergwenn.tumblr.com)  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/irlgwenstacy)  
> on steam @mynoghraa  
> and my discord is mynoghraa#8836
> 
> love y'all. be kind to yourselves.


	22. Victim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: discussion of sexual assault, victim blaming, torture, graphic violence, body horror, cannibalism(?)
> 
> _now you have me torn  
>  can't remember who i was before_

Babel Casino lived up to its name. Although it had only been around for a matter of months, it had already attracted a diverse group of clientele. As you slipped through the crowds, you spotted politicians, social media influencers, drug dealers, mob enforcers, and philanthropists. The Judge led you like a shepherd, people parting for him subconsciously, his very presence turning their gazes away and silence following in his wake.

“Is this your flock?” you asked him, feeling terribly out of place with your plain hoodie and worn jeans among designer outfits.

“Of a sort,” the Judge hummed, glancing back at you, sunglasses dipping far enough down to reveal his serpentine eyes. “This is the flock fit for slaughter, little one. Like any good sacrificial lambs, they have to be fattened first.”

A woman with sharp cheekbones and the judgmental gaze of the privileged cast a distasteful look in your direction and you hissed in response. Rotten to the core, all of them. While you had not been left a trust fund or had the luxury of living off of daddy’s money, you had just as much of a right to be there as any of them. But her gaze slid off you as soon as it had landed, the Judge’s influence causing her to bow her head just like the others.

Slot machines flashed and chimed as you passed, the gazes of the people seated before them vacant, hypnotized as luck either blessed them or cursed them. Scantily clad women manned the tables, blank misery clear in their faces as they tended to the Judge’s wretched flock. Fortunes were won and lost, disappearing into the chaotic static of the massive room. You stuck a little closer to the Judge as he scanned a key card, moved into a private section of the casino.

Silence enveloped the space as you followed him down a dimly lit hall, the sudden lack of noise setting you on edge. You’d followed the Judge’s lure on a whim, giving Dick a lame excuse before you’d disappeared. Even then, standing so close to the man, you could feel his pull on you.

“Why are we here?” you asked him, hands shoved into your pockets. “You never told me.”

“You never asked,” he answered easily, his sly grin sending a chill down your spine. “But now that you have, I’ll gladly tell you. I have a gift for you, little one. Something to reward you for your loyalty.”

What loyalty? You’d only agreed to the man’s terms and mildly roughed up a crooked lawyer for him. If that constituted as loyalty, you were a little worried about how stable he was. Then again, you had answered each of his calls, floating to his side each time without a word of argument. It was unlike you, to so easily give in to a man’s demands.

But you could unpack all of that later.

“What kind of gift?” you asked, uneasy as he led you down another hallway.

“The kind that you can’t turn away,” he told you cryptically, opening one final door.

Shooting him a confused look, you hesitated for a second before stepping inside. There were no lights in the room, your eyes taking a moment to shift and adjust to the oppressive darkness. Behind you, the Judge closed the door with a soft chuckle.

A figure sat in a chair in the middle of the room, hands bound behind them.

Dread settled ice cold and heavy in your chest as you took a shaking step forward. The captive did not move, the rattling, weak sound of their breath the only indication that they were still alive. Frozen in place, you flinched when the Judge laid a hand on your shoulder, leaned in close.

“Go on,” he breathed, voice lighting something dark in your chest. “This is what you wanted. Take it. My gift to you, little one, in hopes that you will remain by my side.”

Catalina Flores slowly lifted her head as you approached. A snarl ripped out of you, unbidden, and you took vicious pleasure in the way she recoiled from the sound. She seemed unharmed but shaken, heart fluttering in her chest like a frightened bird.

You’d expected the hunt to take much longer than this. But, it seemed, the Judge was feeling generous.

Something rotten bloomed in you then, stoked the slow burning flames of your rage as you took slow, even steps towards her. This was the monster who’d torn down the carefully laid bricks of your life, disrupted what little peace you’d known. This was the bitch who’d gotten her own partner drunk and assaulted him behind a bar, left him there to rot.

This was the blight that you were meant to purge. The corruption you had to excise, rip out in order to save the rotting limb.

A dim red light flicked on above her, your eyes reflecting it in the dark and making her shrink away in fear. Pulling off your sweatshirt and standing before her in your jeans and a sports bra, you stepped further into the light as slithering limbs slipped from the small of your back. Flores stared at you in horror, no recognition in her glazed eyes.

“What the fuck?” she gasped, pulling at her restraints. “Where am I? What is this?”

The Judge stepped up to stand beside you, running a hand over one of your curling limbs, his touch cold against the soft scales. The tentacle curled around his wrist, scarlet scales bloody under the light.

“Catalina Flores,” the Judge said, letting your slithering appendage curl around his arm up to the elbow. “You have been brought here for judgement.”

“Look, assholes,” she spat, glaring first at him, and then at you. “You let me go now and maybe you’ll go to jail for kidnapping a cop. You keep me any longer, they’ll never find your bodies.”

“Unfortunately, no one is looking for you, Ms. Flores,” he sighed, shaking his head with feigned sympathy. “Your brother is looking the other way to save his own skin. Well, at least for the time being. I’m afraid that his time for judgement will come soon. Your superiors won’t miss you, and your partner certainly won’t. Especially after what you did to him.”

Flores narrowed her eyes, scoffing.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” she asked.

You moved before you could stop yourself. One of your tentacles lashed out, wrapping tight around her neck. Her eyes widened, terror lacing her scent as you squeezed, hatred burning hot in your chest.

“Ah, I would suggest being very careful with your words,” the Judge said, wicked cheer in his voice as he stepped forward. “My partner here is a bit sensitive, you see. Quick to anger. Especially when it comes to Richard Grayson.”

Recognition lit in her gaze then, her mouth opening and closing in breathless gasps. Hands curled into trembling fists at your side, you let the tentacle slide away, her deep, desperate inhale making the rot spread further in your heart.

“You’re…” she gasped.

“His girlfriend,” you snarled, taking another step closer to her. “The girlfriend of the man you raped.”

Flores gave you a baffled look, then turned to the Judge.

“Is that what all of this is about?” she asked, the fear in her tone replaced by deep annoyance. “I didn’t _rape_ him. He kissed me first, and he certainly never told me no.”

“He was drunk,” you hissed, hand snapping out to grasp her chin, claws digging into her skin and drawing blood. “чортів сука.”

“You also have an impressive amount of sexual misconduct cases against you that mysteriously vanished into thin air,” the Judge added, moving to stand on the other side of her. He slipped off his sunglasses, looked her in the eye. “Not to mention how many people in your custody would go missing before Grayson was assigned to you in a misguided attempt to reign you in. But alas, poor Richard. He had no way of knowing how deeply your soul had rotted, how toxic the roots.”

The roar of your pulse in your ears was like that of the waves, a storm breaking on the rocks, no mercy in sight and leaving only destruction in its wake. Your teeth ached with the desire to sink into her flesh, to rip and tear and fill your belly and leave nothing behind but bones.

But you weren’t going to let her have the mercy of a quick death.

No. You were going to take your time. Let yourself savor it.

“Who the hell are _you_?” she spat at the Judge, wincing as your claws dug deeper into the tender flesh of her jaw. “Her sidepiece? A freak sugar daddy?”

“It won’t be for much longer now,” he said, cold edge to his smile and voice, “but you can call me the Judge. The ocean has sent me to this rotting city for centuries, tasked me with purging the infection before it spread too far. The little one is still young, still learning. I am simply guiding her. Letting her make her first judgement and hand down her first sentence.”

He was the judge, but you were the jury and the executioner. A witness and an assassin conveniently rolled together, still young, still recoiling yet from the horrors that the world had to offer. Eager for a guiding hand.

“Guilty,” you hissed, letting your extra limbs fan out behind you, cast shadows across her face. “Rotten and corrupted. Born twisted from the start, spawned from the same poisoned source as her brother.”

“And her punishment?” the Judge asked with cruel glee.

“Death.”

Releasing her jaw, you took a step back as one of your tentacles lashed forward, slicing through the zip ties that bound her wrists. Slumping forward, Flores barely managed to catch herself before her face smashed into the ground. You patiently waited for her to stand, limb retracting to curl around your arm.

“It wouldn’t be any fun if you couldn’t fight back, though,” you said, a dark thrill making your appendages shiver in anticipation, furling and unfurling behind you. “Tell me, Judge, how long do you think she’ll last?”

“Hmm.” The Judge moved the chair back so that he could sit in it, regarding both of you. The red light caught his eyes, reflected the amusement in them as he met your hooded gaze. “I think it depends on when you get bored of playing with her.”

Absolutely correct. You were going to drag this out for as long as you could, break her slowly until she was _begging_ you to kill her, crying and screaming for the mercy of death.

Flores glared at you, massaging at her wrists as you slowly began to circle one another. There was a cold intelligence to her eyes, the way they flicked from your claws to the slithering limbs that trailed behind you. Good. She was a detective, so you’d hoped she was at least somewhat competent. But no matter how good she was, she was no match for you. No match for the monster in your soul that screamed for her blood.

She moved first, pulling a knife from her boot and slashing at you. You moved nimbly out of the way, blocking her next attack with one of your tentacles, the blade glancing off the hardened scales. Part of you was annoyed that the Judge had brought her here but hadn’t disarmed her. A larger part of you delighted in her building frustration as you dodged and parried, steps light as she attempted to drive you into a corner. Wrapping one of your tentacles around her wrist, you pulled her towards you, throwing her off balance.

Darting forward, you let your jaws unhinge and close around her shoulder. Flores screamed as you ripped away skin and muscle, teeth scraping against bone. Blood splattered the floor as you released her, let her stumble away from you. Her flesh slid warm and slick down your throat, blood coating your lips and chin, staining your teeth.

“What the fuck _are_ you?” she demanded, voice breaking in pain and panic.

“You know, you’re not the first person to ask me that just before I killed them,” you hummed. “Normally, I hate repeating myself. But I’ll make an exception, just this once.”

You took a step towards her, grinning as she took a shaking step back. Her injured arm hung at her side, useless with all of the tendons and muscle you’d torn out. The knife tumbled from her numb fingers. Another step, then another, and another. The slow approach of a predator towards wounded prey, holding back the killing blow.

“There are a lot of names for what I am. Here, in America, I would be called a siren.” Another step. “But back home, I am called a rusalka. I am a creature of the seas, violent and unstoppable, destroying any obstacle in front of me. I am a being created when a woman dies violently, borne of rage and vengeance. But more than that, I am Liliya Pavlovna Koshka, formerly Mila Koshka. I am a nightmare. A monster.”

You paused in your advance, let Flores stumble back, her pupils dilated in fear. Her blood tasted foul in your mouth, rotten, but you didn’t much care.

After all, your brother had tasted much worse.

“What,” you simpered, “no fight left in you? Just one little bite and you give up? I’m disappointed.”

“Does… does Grayson…?” she stammered.

“He knows,” you told her, baring your teeth in a savage smile. “Does that hurt, Flores? Knowing that he would choose a monster over you, that you had to stoop to raping him to get what you wanted?”

She snarled, rage replacing her fear. Good. You wanted her angry. You wanted to taste the adrenaline in her blood. More than that, you wanted to beat her down, beat her so badly she abandoned all hope just before you finally let her die.

“Pretty convenient, this story you’ve made up for yourself,” she snapped. “That I took advantage of him. But we both know better, don’t we? He got tired of your scaly, monstrous ass and when he realized he’d cheated, he played it off. You know, Grayson really does make delicious sounds when—”

You roared, throwing yourself at her. Fury molten hot in your veins, you kicked her hard in the chest, heard ribs crack as she slammed back into the wall, breath escaping her in a startled gasp. Before she could crumple to the ground you caught her by the throat. Breathing heavily, you pried her mouth open.

“You don’t get to talk about my sunshine like that,” you hissed. “Never again.”

Reaching in, you sank your nails into her tongue and ripped it out. Choked gurgling noises escaped her as you tipped your head back and devoured the flesh. Licking your lips, you glanced back at her, the blood dribbling down her chin and the way her good arm clawed at your wrist. You released her, watched her slump to the floor.

“You didn’t have to see the aftermath,” you growled, watching her spit up a mouthful of gore. “You didn’t have to listen to him cry. You didn’t have to wash the lipstick from his skin, watch him claw at himself like he wanted to peel away every inch of him that you’d touched. You didn’t have to watch him suffer through nightmares, didn’t have to come home to him panicking because he was terrified that you’d left him. You took what you wanted and left him to deal with the fall out.”

Flores let out a pained moan, hand pressed over her mouth, eyes glassy with fear. She was going into shock.

“The man I love shouldn’t have to suffer just because you selfishly decided to force yourself on him,” you continued, crouching in front of her. “And I know that justice won’t be served unless I take it for myself.”

The Judge yawned loudly, drawing your attention back to him. Frowning, you watched him rest his cheek on his fist.

“I think you’ve spent enough time playing with your food, little one,” he told you. “She doesn’t even know what’s going on anymore. Look at her eyes. She’s checked out.”

Unfortunately, he was correct. The glaze to her eyes had deepened, her stare unfocused as she tipped forward and fell motionless to the ground. The blood loss had finally gotten to her, it seemed. You sighed, one of your limbs unfurling and roughly turning her onto her back. Her breaths were becoming shallow, heartbeat fading. You weren’t going to get a chance to peel off her skin while she was still conscious, it seemed.

But that was okay. You were quite hungry, after all.

Tentacles wrapping around her limbs and throat, you held her still as you pulled her shirt up to reveal her belly. Your nails sank into the soft flesh easily, splitting her open like ripe fruit. Gingerly, you detangled her intestines, lowering your head and beginning to feed. But you took your time, met her fading gaze as you ate her guts, messy and loud and ravenous. Her liver was next, then her stomach. One by one you broke her ribs, tossing them aside as you fed on her lungs. Finally, you got to her heart, weakly beating. Flores had long since fallen unconscious, the fraying thread of her life a second away from snapping. You lifted her heart in your hands, expecting a rotting, blackened thing, but finding what you would have in any other human. It gushed when you bit into it, a sweeter taste to the flesh than the rest of her rotten innards.

Sitting back on your heels, you licked at your fingers, blood splattered on your bare skin and staining your jeans. It pooled under the body of the monster you’d slain, her glassy eyes staring up to the sky in a permanently fixed expression of horror.

While not perfect, you found yourself satisfied with the death you’d brought.

“Have you had your fill?” the Judge asked, snake eyes sliding over your body as you stood.

“I have.”

“Good.” He stood as well, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at the viscera staining your face. “How did it feel, little one? Passing judgement upon the corrupt?”

“It felt…” You paused, feeling the adrenaline in your veins, the way your hands trembled with excitement. “It felt good. Satisfying. Right.”

The Judge tipped your head up, satisfaction in his own gaze as he observed your giddy smile.

“You’ve done so very well, little one,” he purred, thumb brushing over your bloody lower lip. “I couldn’t be more pleased with you. Now that you’ve consumed your gift, it’s time for us to really get to work. There are so many tumors to excise from this city, countless wicked hearts to purge. Will you join me?”

“Of course.” You grinned. This was the kind of justice that you wanted. Bloody and terrible, fear cast on the hearts of monsters in the moments before their death. You were a creature of vengeance, after all. It was in your nature to want this. “When do we start?”

“Soon.” The Judge took a step back, pleased. “But take some time to bask in this victory. Go to the human you love and rejoice knowing that you’ve brought about justice for him. You’ll know when I need you.”

With a small nod, you picked up your sweater, drew it back over your head and winced at the way the fabric stuck to the blood on your skin. The ends of your hair were clumped with it, pale blond turned deep red. The Judge’s gaze was heavy on your back as you left, hood pulled up to conceal your hair and face.

You would know when he was ready to move forward. That pull would return, a silent lure, like calling to like.

But as you left Babel Casino, the sun beginning to set, the adrenaline wore off and the magnitude of your actions set in. You had just killed a cop. Not just any cop, but a detective. Dick’s partner. Would she be missed? Would Mateo go back on his word and have you hunted down? Catalina Flores deserved her death, deserved to be consumed and then tossed to the cold, churning waves. But your actions would have consequences, one way or the other, and you feared what that would mean for Dick.

If there was an investigation into her disappearance, would he be suspected? After all, he’d taken days off work when she’d vanished. People knew what she had done to him. There was no way they couldn’t. Although they’d turned a blind eye to his assault, you did not have faith that they would do the same with her murder.

You could not afford to turn yourself in. You had so much more you had to do. And justice had been served, even if it was not what human law saw as right or moral.

Dick could never know about what you did. Not because you were afraid of what he would think, but because knowledge of it would cast guilt upon him. He had been through enough. These were your actions, and your actions alone.

You slipped into his house through the bedroom window, smears of blood left on the windowsill as you quietly snuck down the hall. You could hear Dick in the living room, humming to himself. Working, no doubt. Blissfully unaware of what you had just done. He would figure out you’d come back, eventually. But you needed to hide the evidence first. Slipping into the bathroom, you dug around under the sink before finding a plastic bag. You stripped off your blood-soaked clothes and underwear quickly, stuffing them in the bag and tying it off. It just barely fit in a hiding spot behind the toilet, tucked away until you could sneak off again and dispose of them. Your boots could be washed later, wrapped in a fraying towel for the time being.

Shortly after you turned on the shower, scrubbing blood from your face and hair first, you heard the bathroom door open.

“Babe?” Dick asked. “I didn’t know you were back.”

“Sorry about that.” You poked your head around the curtain, satisfied that it was clean enough. Blood still rain down the drain, the rest of your body still caked with it. “I wasn’t sure if you were sleeping or not, and I got dirty while I was out.”

“Nah, I was just getting some work done. Typing up case notes for the captain, all that.” He smiled at you, his eyes a little less haunted. But the expression was still strained. “What did you do, roll around in the mud like Penny?”

“Something like that,” you hummed, resting your head against the tile wall. “I got hungry, decided to go for a bit of a dip.”

That would explain away the bloody shoe prints, the smear on the windowsill if he saw it before you cleaned it. It felt terrible, lying to him. But you had to do it. Had to keep the truth of what you’d done at a safe distance.

“Well, that answers my question about whether you wanted dinner or not,” he chuckled. “Want to watch some Great British Bake-Off when you’re done?”

“That would be nice.” You smiled. “I won’t be much longer.”

With a satisfied hum, Dick shut the door. Your shoulders slumped in relief. For the moment, you’d managed to dodge suspicion. How long that would last, though, you weren’t sure. Scrubbing violently at your skin, you washed off the last of the blood, checking every inch of your skin and scales in the mirror to make sure. Once all the blood had run down the drain, you shut off the water and wrapped yourself in a towel, quietly shuffling down the hall.

You quickly changed into a nightgown, towel dried your hair and brushed your teeth to clean it of the last bits of blood and flesh. Then you quietly made your way out to the living room. Dick glanced up when you entered, closing his laptop and patting the spot beside him on the sofa. Obediently, you curled up next to him, laying down so that you could rest your head on his lap.

As Dick queued up the show, his fingers gently combing through your hair, you let the guilt slowly ebb away, replaced with pure, unbridled affection.

For him, you were willingly damned. For him, you would let the streets run red with blood. For him, you would do anything. For him, you would be brutal. Unforgiving. Monstrous.

You only hoped that you didn’t drag him down to Hell with you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been a while hasn't it? hey friends. life's been pretty crazy on my end. my cat got diagnosed with diabetes, so my life has pretty much been upended by that (financially and time-wise). my furlough has become indefinite at this point, so i've been trying to figure out what to do about finding a new job. but ya just gotta roll with the punches, and honestly? this chapter was kinda satisfying to write. 
> 
> nothing quite like some fictional violence to cheer you up, am i right?
> 
> on that note, i just want to say: yes, koshka is becoming an anti-villain. her morals are no longer human morals, and her inherent nature is far more destructive. peace was never really an option. however, the judge is (obviously) manipulating her. this arc won't end like the one in the comics (which was incredibly unsatisfying), but i do think it's going to be quite a bit longer than i planned. so stick with me. 
> 
> we'll all see this to the bitter end.
> 
> as always, thank you for reading. love y'all. be kind to yourselves, stay safe. there'll be more dick in the next chapter, i promise.


	23. Burn It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: suicide
> 
> _there's someone in the mirror that you don't know  
>  and everything was all wrong  
> so burn it till it's all gone_

From a penthouse balcony, Bludhaven didn’t look like too much of a shit hole. The sun was just beginning to set, bleeding reds and oranges painting the bay and throwing the skyline into shadow. It was a shame that you couldn’t enjoy it, since you were busy dangling Mateo Flores over the side of the building. His fingers scrabbled at the appendage holding him by the throat, just tight enough to keep him from slipping without crushing his windpipe. The Judge stood next to you, wearing a vicious smile as Mateo thrashed in your grip.

“Oh, Mateo,” the Judge sighed, shaking his head. “Such a foolish boy. You really thought that you could escape your own judgement?”

Flores only gasped, eyes wide and bloodshot as you tightened your grip.

“Aiko told us where to find you,” you said, tugging down your mask. “After she shredded the case you were building on your sister’s disappearance.”

“Everyone can be bought,” the Judge added, pulling a golden coin from his pocket and flipping it. “Loyalty really is hard to find these days.”

The man just gasped in reply, struggling to breathe as you slowly applied pressure to his windpipe. The sun sank a little further in the sky, darkness creeping in, your eyes narrowing as you watched him thrash and struggle. Out of the corner of your eye you caught the Judge’s small nod, throwing Flores to the ground behind you. He coughed and struggled for breath when you released him, arms shaking as he pushed himself up to his hands and knees. You watched, letting the appendage retract.

The Judge crouched next to Flores, heaving a dramatic sigh.

“You know that I didn’t want to do this,” he said, elbows resting on his knees. “Honestly, Mateo, this all could have been so easy. But you just had to go and decide to damn yourself even further, didn’t you?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Flores rasped, glaring at the other man.

“You were trying your best to build a case against me in your sister’s sudden disappearance,” the Judge said, voice cold. “One to hand over to the police so that you could try to wash your hands of me. It would be so easy to frame some nameless drifter, after all. Unfortunately, I don’t take very kindly to betrayal.”

“What, you think they’re not gonna look into why one of their own suddenly vanished off the face of the earth?” Flores spat, pushing himself to stand and glaring down at the Judge. “Of course I was building a fucking case. That’s my job, dipshit.”

“Your job,” the Judge said, slowly standing as well, “was to do as I asked. Then you would have been given an easy death, Mateo. But you just had to go and indulge your ego, didn’t you?”

“Fuck you.” He laughed, shaking his head. “You’ve got nothing on me. Why the fuck would I ever work for you?”

“You’re right.” The Judge shook his head, slipping off his sunglasses. “It was stupid of me to think that you would have a single functioning braincell. But don’t worry. We’ll make sure to correct this little blunder of yours.”

Flores began to open his mouth to spit out more insults, but fell suddenly, eerily silent. His eyes were locked on the Judge’s, pupils dilating as his limbs locked up. You simply watched, a chill going down your spine. For all his talk of never forcing anyone to do something against their will, you suspected that you were about to watch the Judge prove otherwise. Reaching forward, he rooted around in Flores’ pockets until he drew out his gold coin with a cold grin.

“Won’t be needing this anymore, will you? Don’t want anything tying us together, after all.” The Judge stepped back, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Now, Mateo. Why don’t you take care of our problem?”

Without hesitation, Flores turned from the Judge, walking towards the railing. You watched in muted horror as he climbed over it and let himself tip over the edge. Darting forward, you leaned over the balcony, watching his body plummet. You winced at the muted, wet sound of him hitting the pavement. Limbs bent in odd, unnatural angles, his eyes stared up at you, life draining from them as blood pooled on the cracked ground beneath him.

It was good that he was dead, you reminded yourself. One less monster in the world. But the chill refused to go away. A cold trace of dread that had you clutching the railing a bit tighter, doubt settling cold and hard in the pit of your stomach. The Judge’s hand fell heavy on your shoulder, calling your attention back to him. His eyes shone cold and hard in the last, bleeding dredges of the sunset. Inhuman, alien, devoid of emotion as he surveyed his work.

“Well,” he said, voice cheery despite his cold expression, “probably best that we leave sooner rather than later.”

“Doesn’t this just look more suspicious?” you asked him, following him with heavy steps as he went back inside the lavish penthouse. “First the sister disappears, now the brother is thrown off his balcony?”

“Ah, your poor, tiny little mind.” He sighed, pulling a folder from inside his suit jacket. Placing it under a stack of paperwork, he shot you an amused grin. “Do you really think I’m that foolish, little one? No, this only ensures that suspicion is turned away from us.”

You remained quiet as he placed a few more items around the living area, leather gloves ensuring he left no fingerprints as he framed the space just so.

“When Catalina’s remains are eventually found in the bay, her bones will be chewed on by whatever creatures live in the dark water,” he told you, finally turning back to you. “They’ll come here to search through Mateo’s things and find blackmail that his sister sent him. Add onto that his poor secretary’s confession to them of all the things he’s done and there’s only one conclusion to be drawn. Mateo got rid of his sister before she could air out the depths of his sin, but he knew that the police were close to tracing it back to him. So, rather than face punishment for his crimes, he threw himself from the balcony.”

“Isn’t that all too… convenient?” you asked. “Someone will find something out of place. Ask questions.”

“Yes, I suppose your precious little human will likely have his own questions.” The Judge grinned when you flinched, stepped closer to you. “But I trust that you’ll do your best to keep him from coming too close to the truth. After all, whatever would he think if he found out that you devoured his partner?”

“Fine,” you snarled, eyes narrowing. “Message received.”

“While you’re doing that, take some time off. Just a few days.” His smile only grew as you both left, the lock clicking behind you. “Prepare yourself for what’s to come next. Make sure that you’re ready to do what has to be done.”

_What has to be done. Lambs fattened for the slaughter._

“Of course.” You pulled up your hood, taking a step away from him and towards the stairs. Best to leave separately. Although you doubted that the security footage of your arrival and departure would exist once the night was over. The Judge always seemed to have at least fifteen different backup plans, no matter the situation. “I assume you’ll call me when it’s time.”

“You’re learning.” The Judge gave you that same cold, detached smile as he made his own way to the elevators. “Go home. Cover your tracks. And prepare to take your place as the ocean’s weapon.”

Without another word, you pulled up your mask and rushed down the stairs. But that feeling of being watched remained heavy at your back. How much did the Judge know? How much could he see, when he wasn’t with you? You tried not to think about it, slick appendage bursting out of your lower back and wrapping around the railing as you hopped over it. You fell the remaining distance, grip on the upper floor keeping your landing light. Letting the limb retract, you straightened your jacket as you stepped back out onto the street.

The moon hung heavy in the sky, stars just beginning to blink into sight as the sun disappeared on the horizon. The distant wail of sirens came closer and you shoved your hands in your pockets, glancing around the corner. A small crowd had gathered around Flores’ body, low chatter muted and horrified. His blood was already beginning to congeal in the cold air, empty gaze still staring up at the point where you’d stood. The first wave of police and medics approached and you turned away, head ducked as you walked away from the scene as casually as you could.

It was a good thing that the Flores siblings were dead. Two filthy souls shuffled off the mortal coil, potentially saving dozens more from becoming their victims. What you had done was a good thing… wasn’t it? While Mateo had, ultimately, taken his own life, your own actions were the catalyst. Your own belly was still full from his sister’s flesh, the taste of her blood lingering at the back of your tongue. They were evil. They were twisted. They deserved to die. Mateo for the untold women he had taken advantage of, and Catalina for the scars she had carved into Dick’s soul.

But now there was a seed of doubt. Did you have the right to make those decisions? Did the Judge? In killing them, were you sinking to the same level as them?

When you got back to the townhouse, still contemplating your actions, Dick was waiting for you. Of course, he was trying to pretend that he was busy with work on his laptop, but you knew better. When he was actually working, he didn’t twitch, didn’t glance up as quickly as he did when you closed the door behind you. He was nervous, fingers drumming briefly against the keyboard before he set aside the computer and stood to greet you. You’d long since stuffed your mask in the pocket of your jacket, slipping out of it as he approached and bent to press a soft kiss to your temple.

“Welcome back,” he murmured.

“Still working?” you asked, pretending for the moment that you hadn’t picked up on the anxious energy radiating off him. Glancing up, you offered him a small smile. “You’ve been glued to your computer for the past three days when you haven’t been at work, sunshine.”

“There’s been… a lot to go over,” he admitted. After a moment of hesitation, he took your hand in his. “You’ve been out of the house a lot, too. I appreciate you staying with me longer, but… what are you doing out there, in the city?”

Your blood ran cold. After all, it was only a matter of time before Dick figured it all out. For all of his feigned ditzyness, he was terrifyingly intelligent. None of your other lies had ever held firm under his scrutiny, and you were scared that this one was about to unravel as well. But you forced a smile anyways, curled your fingers around his and did your best not to show your hand. Not yet.

You had to protect him from what was to come.

“Just trying to keep busy so I don’t go stir crazy here,” you told him. “Visiting some of my old hangouts, doing what work I can for Bruce while I’m here.”

A flimsy excuse, and one that you expected him to pick apart easily. But instead, he sighed, brow furrowing as he glanced down at your hands.

“Just… be careful when you’re out, okay? There’s a lot of weird things happening.” His gaze darkened. “People going missing with no explanation. Others showing up dead in ways that don’t make sense.”

“Oh.” You blinked, genuinely surprised. The Flores siblings were the only ones that you’d had any real knowledge of, not counting whatever the Judge had planned for Babel Casino and its patrons. What was he getting up to while you weren’t there? “Is that what you’ve been working on?”

“For the most part,” he confirmed. “It’s… troubling.”

Carefully, you took a step closer to him, planned your words before you spoke them.

“In what way?” you asked, looking him in the eye. “Is it anything that I can help with?”

Dick’s moment of hesitation seemed to stretch for an eternity, his eyes narrowing for a moment before he relented. With a heavy sigh, he let go of your hands and sat back down. Head in his hands, his words were soft and hesitant.

“Back when I was still Robin, Bruce and I were investigating a string of deaths in Bludhaven,” he said. “Brutal murders. Extreme mutilation. At every scene, there were footprints left behind, but all of them were made of sea water.”

Sitting next to him, you remained quiet, gave him time to parse out his explanation. But more than that, you were absorbing what little information you could in hopes that it would give you some kind of leverage over the Judge.

“They were calling him the Sea Butcher. He killed twelve people before we finally tracked him down. He was about to claim his thirteenth victim when we got there.” Dick’s fingers tightened in his hair, a small shudder passing through him. “We were on this old cargo ship. Bruce was about to subdue the guy, but I lost control. Thought of all those bodies, all the people he’d killed… I was still just a kid. Didn’t know my own strength. Beat the hell out of him, then accidentally kicked him overboard. But his eyes… They were wrong. The cops never found his body, but all agreed that he was likely dead. The waters were too cold, too deep. No way he could have survived them. But that was over a decade ago.”

“You think that this Sea Butcher has come back,” you said.

“I do.” Dick raised his head, expression grave as he regarded you. “His M.O. is completely different. People killing themselves, people who were into unsavory things. But I just… I can feel it in my gut. I know that it’s him, but I don’t know how.”

Of course, he was right. You knew that he was right. You had that same gut feeling. There were too many bodies in both situations for it to be coincidence. A monster fell into the sea, then rose years later to continue the bloodshed. A purge, no mercy to be shown. Doubt now fell heavy on your shoulders.

_What had you done?_

“Koshka…” He rested a hand on your knee, gaze clear. “You know something. Don’t you?”

Did the horror show on your face? Was the blood staining your hands? You took a deep breath, tried your best to look him in the eye.

The man you loved. The man you’d killed for. The man that you’d damned yourself for. Would he hate you? Would he curse you?

But there was no judgement in his eyes. Just concern.

“The Sea Butcher’s victims,” you whispered, heart sinking. “Who were they?”

“Mostly college students,” he told you. “A few of them had gotten roped into selling drugs. The others were running scams. But it wasn’t anything that warranted the level of violence against them.”

It was getting hard to breathe.

“When he fell into the sea…” you hesitated, had to look away from him. “What did his eyes look like?”

“Yellow pupils and black sclera,” Dick told you. “They reminded me of a snake.”

What would Katya say, if she were still with you? Would she chastise you for trusting a devil the way that you had? Would she hate you, for falling for temptation? Was she somewhere still within the depths of your soul, disappointed at giving up her life for someone so stupid? Because there was no doubt about it. You had made a mistake, and one that you were afraid you couldn’t fix.

You remembered the way your mouth had watered when you’d agreed to continued helping him. The hunger that had risen in you, alien and monstrous. Had that been you? Or had that been him? Had he been slowly bending your mind to his will, hoping you would become a mindless weapon?

“Kitten, say something,” Dick whispered, his grip tightening on your knee. “You’re scaring me.”

“Dick…” You hesitated, words failing you. What were you supposed to say? What in the world could possibly make your involvement in the coming nightmare forgivable? “I broke my promise to you.”

“What promise?”

“After Tiger Shark,” you said, “you made me promise that I wouldn’t keep throwing myself into danger. That I’d find something other than you to give myself peace. And I went to therapy and made friends and found some semblance of peace, but…”

You couldn’t go on. Gritting your teeth, you closed your eyes, cradled your head in your hands. If you had just looked past the anger, the rage, the hatred, you would have seen that this wasn’t the path to take. That you had thrown yourself headlong into ruin, caring only about the temporary satisfaction of chasing your own brand of justice.

You didn’t feel guilty for what you had done to Catalina. She had deserved it. One less monster in the world. And you didn’t feel guilty for what had happened to Mateo either. Another monster gone.

But you should have known better than to trust a devil. A man bent on getting what he wanted, no matter the cost. What did he do when you were not there, a witness to his true schemes? How many of his fattened lambs would he slaughter? How many of them would end up being innocents? While you could look past killing murderers and rapists and the corrupt elite, who trampled people beneath them without a care in the world, you didn’t believe that minor crimes deserved death as punishment. Not drug use or small-time dealers. Not scammers. Not kids.

Greed wasn’t a sin that deserved death. But you knew, down to your very bones, that the Judge believed it was. That he saw any sin as worthy of death. That even if the streets ran red with blood, it wouldn’t be enough for him.

“Koshka…” Dick moved to take your face in his hands, forcing you to look up at him. “What did you do?”

“It’s not about what I did,” you whispered. Your shaking hands covered his. “It’s about what I was going to do.”

The fear in his eyes broke your heart. But Dick did not let you go, did not demand that you get out. Instead, his grip on you tightened as he shifted closer.

“What do you mean?”

“Something terrible has come to Gotham.” You had to take another deep breath. Did the Judge know that you were selling him out? That you had confirmed the truth to Dick, at risk of losing him, instead of deepening the lie? “And… Sunshine, I don’t know if I can stop it.”

When this was all over, when the Judge returned to the sea and slept until he was needed once more, how many people would die? How much innocent blood would be on your hands? Dick opened his mouth, started to say something, but was cut off by his phone ringing. You knew what it was about. Reluctantly, he stood to take the call.

Alone in his living room, you tried to formulate a plan. Something that would leave him out of it. Something that would keep him safe. If the Judge knew that you were turning against him, trying to find a way to stop him, Dick would be his first target. By his logic, removing the strongest tie you had to humanity would be the best way to bend you back towards him. To make you a true monster, devoid of any ties to the people around you.

You wouldn’t let him take Dick from you. You refused.

When he came back to the room, he was silent. Contemplative. He still held his phone, expression grim.

“Mateo Flores killed himself,” he told you.

“Yes,” you whispered. “I know.”

Dick looked at you then. _Really_ looked at you, openly curious. Openly questioning. You weren’t sure what he would find, if he would still see the woman he’d fallen in love with or the monster willing to damn herself for him. You looked back at him, refused to flinch under his gaze. While you wouldn’t regret what you’d done, you’d accept whatever he thought of it. Good or bad.

“They want me to come to the scene,” he finally said, eyes still locked with your own. “What am I going to find there, Koshka?”

“Evidence of a monster,” you told him, tipping your chin up. “One that deserved to be removed from this world. But you’ll also find things that aren’t true. I know I probably have no right to ask this of you, but please play along with them. Just for the time being.”

“Fine.” Dick agreed easily, surprising you. “But when I get back… you need to tell me what’s happening, Koshka. You need to let me help you.”

“Okay.” He looked equally as surprised by your agreement. “But this has to be on my terms. I respect you, and what you’re capable of. But I also have to keep you safe. If you get hurt because of me…”

“I won’t.” Dick crossed back over to you, pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “I won’t. I… I don’t know what all you’ve done, Koshka. But I believe that your heart was in the right place. We’ll figure this out together, okay?”

You nodded, stood to help him get his coat on and see him out the door. Once his car had disappeared from sight, you closed the door and leaned against it.

Even after the lies, he hadn’t pushed you away. Even after your broken promise, he hadn’t demanded you leave.

You didn’t deserve Dick Grayson’s love. But you would do whatever it took to keep it, to try to be worthy of it. You caught your reflection in the window, studied your muddied features.

You didn’t recognize the person staring back at you. The _thing_ staring back at you. How much of yourself had you lost?

That didn’t matter. You tore your gaze away, retreated to the bedroom to boot up your own laptop. If you were going to do this, if you were going to redeem yourself, then you needed to know your enemy. As much as you could know him, anyways. There was no telling how many atrocities he had been behind. How long he had stalked the streets of Bludhaven.

But, at the very least, you could understand the Sea Butcher. 

And, when the time came, you could destroy the devil himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you ever write yourself into a corner? yeah. don't worry, there will be a happy ending to all of this, i promise. 
> 
> but there will have to be some losses along the way.
> 
> thank you as always for reading. love y'all. i'll see you in the next update!


	24. Humans Are Such Easy Prey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: violence, mass psychosis, brief mention of sexual assault, discussion of trauma
> 
> _It can't be bargained with, it can't be reasoned with  
>  It doesn't feel pity, or remorse, or fear, and it absolutely will not stop...  
> Ever... until you are dead..._

There was something different about the Babel Casino. Maybe it was just your own awareness of the horrors that were planned for the people inside. Maybe it was just the storm clouds rolling in, dark and ominous as the sun began to set and thunder rumbled in the distance. But there was an air of unease as you walked through the front doors, a sense of impending doom. The Judge’s flock seemed unaware as ever, too focused on their own greed to notice. But some of the dealers, the servers walking the floor with overpriced cocktails, seemed uncomfortable.

Did they know what was about to happen? Were any of them complicit? Or could they simply feel the danger in the air?

The Judge waited for you at the bar, a martini in hand as he surveyed the floor. You sat down next to him, hands shoved into your pockets as you tried to see what he saw. What sins were visible before his eyes? Or had he simply resolved to label humanity itself as a sin?

“Would you like a drink?” he asked you, still watching his flock.

“I’m good,” you muttered, glancing over at him. “Thank you.”

“Please.” The Judge finally turned to face you, sunglasses tipped down enough for you to see his eyes. “I insist.”

You thought about resisting. Turning him down hard, letting him know that you were not a dog, not obedient to his every whim.

_“Don’t do anything that could make him suspicious,” Dick said. “Play along for as long as you can. I know it’s a lot to ask, but if he knows what we’re planning we could fail before we even try.”_

“Very well,” you relented. You turned to the bartender. “Double Stolichnaya, neat.”

“Ah, a good Slav drink,” The Judge chuckled. “Vodka straight.”

“It’s not a celebration unless the vodka is flowing,” you told him with a crooked grin. “I’m assuming that’s why we’re drinking.”

“Correct.” When you received your vodka, he held up his martini glass. “To purging this rotten city.”

“Будьмо,” you said, tapping the edges of the glasses together before downing the vodka in one go.

Setting the empty glass down on the bar top, you watched a couple stumble past you, both of them sloppy drunk. Now that you had vodka sitting warm in your stomach, a bit of liquid courage, you realized that quite a few of the people at the tables and sitting at the slots seemed to be inebriated.

“Far easier to cull a herd when they’ve been pacified,” the Judge said, his own drink empty. “Free drinks for everyone, so that they don’t fight back when judgement arrives.”

It was hard to hide your reaction, the visceral horror at his statement. Not only did he plan to kill all of these people, but he planned to do it when they were incapable of fighting back. Were there people in the crowd who deserved it? Certainly. But killing people who couldn’t defend themselves didn’t sit right with you. That wasn’t judgement.

That was cold-blooded slaughter.

“Are you prepared to do what it takes?” the Judge asked you, cold eyes boring into your own. “To do what must be done?”

“I am,” you lied, forcing a smile. “I am ready to render the sea’s judgement upon the guilty.”

_“You’re certain of this?” Dick asked._

_“Completely certain,” you told him. “No soul will escape that place alive if he gets what he wants.”_

_“Do you know how he plans to do it?”_

_“No. It could be that he finds a way to compel them all like he compelled Flores. It could be that he orders me to do the job for him. He didn’t tell me.”_

_“Any chance he could kill all of them himself?”_

_“Doesn’t seem like his style. Either they take care of themselves, or someone like me puts them down. But I suppose it’s always possible.”_

“Very good.” The Judge stood, striding towards the blackjack tables. You followed him, staying a half step behind. “Tell me, little one, do you know the layout of this garden of sin?”

“Of course.” You barely dodged a drunken man, his eyes lingering on you for a moment too long. “The first two floors are all dedicated to gambling. The third floor is for executive offices. The remaining seven are hotel rooms, for any patrons that wish to stay. But they’re booked months out.”

“Good to know you do your research.” The Judge stopped at an elevator, punching the button to call it. “Our first stop will be the third floor.”

Stepping into the gilded elevator with him, you stayed quiet as it moved up. There was really only one reason why you were heading there first. Take off the head of the snake, remove its eyes, and the body dies much easier. With no security to watch the floor and no pit boss to alert anyone outside the casino, the slaughter would be much easier. Pulling up your hood, you followed the Judge back out. He’d taken off his sunglasses, tucked them into the breast pocket of his suit. White was a bold color choice when orchestrating mass murder, but you supposed that he intended to keep himself distant enough that it wouldn’t get ruined.

“Who’s first?” you asked, keeping your voice low.

The Judge made a thoughtful noise, tapping his index finger against his chin. Then he pulled out one of his coins, offering it to you.

“Flip this,” he told you. “Heads, you take out security first. Tails, you go to the pit boss first.”

A toss of a coin to decide not whether or not people would die, but who would die first. Not that you truly minded killing either option. You’d done your research on the casino, and found that their security came from what remained of the Italians, on loan from Blockbuster himself. The pit boss was one of Blockbuster’s lieutenants. All deaths that would better the city. But the casual way in which their fate was being decided rubbed you the wrong way. If you were going to kill these men, you wanted it to be your decision. Logical, considered. So you pushed his hand away, turning to the door that the pit boss was behind.

“No need. We cut off the head first, then gouge out the eyes.” You glanced back at him, face wiped clean of the disgust you felt. “Are you going to wait out here?”

“I think so.” He smiled, eyes glinting in the dim light of the hall. “I trust you to take care of the sinner quickly and quietly.”

This one would be easy, of course. You opened the door, tentacle lashing out from beneath your hoodie before the man could say a word. As the door clicked shut behind you, the limb tightened around his mouth and neck, lifting him off his feet. There were so many ways to kill a gangster. You could snap his neck, get it over with quickly. You could shove the limb down his throat, have him slowly choke to death. You could rip him apart limb by limb, scatter him across the office. Quick and clean or slow and messy.

As hungry as you were, as badly as the monstrous thing you’d become wanted to gorge on his flesh and guzzle his blood, you decided to show some restraint. Well, at least with this one. The pit boss’ spine broke with a terrible, wet crack, life fading from his eyes as his body went limp. You lowered the corpse gently, not wanting to draw any more unnecessary attention to yourself. After chewing through all the power cords you could find, you stepped back out, picking a bit of wiring from your teeth.

The Judge was leaned against the wall, smug grin on his face as you shut the door behind you. No words were needed, of course. You’d done your job and made sure that it was done well. He gestured to the door next to him. The remainder of the security team, observing the floor for any threats. You took a deep breath. You weren’t sure how many people were inside.

But it didn’t matter. They’d die all the same. Opening the door, you counted seven of them. Usually a lucky number but, unfortunately, it did not work in their favor. You blocked out their screams as you killed them one by one, blood on your clothes and a bitter taste in your mouth. Ripped off heads and limbs, shredded throats and pulled out beating hearts. Smashing the monitors, you did not look up when the Judge entered the room. His laughter was terrible, devoid of humor and full of cruelty. Only once you’d destroyed the last of the computers did you look back at him. He prodded at a head that lay on the ground before him with the toe of his shoe, rolling it back and forth.

“A little bit messier, these ones,” he said. “Getting frustrated?”

“Faster to take care of them that way,” you grunted, wiping the blood from your fingers onto your jeans. “Do you have a problem with it?”

“Not at all.” The Judge kicked the head across the room, grinning at the dull sound it made when it hit the wall. “Quite the opposite. I think you do your best work when you’re angry, little one. Going to get a quick snack out of any of them?”

“No.” Your stomach churned at the thought. “I ate earlier.”

_“I don’t want to risk losing control if there is a bloodbath,” you said, through a mouthful raw meat. “I need to stay focused.”_

_“I think that’s a good idea,” Dick said. “But I think you’re selling yourself short. I think you have more control than you say you do.”_

_“A lot of thoughts you’re having there. Ones that don’t exactly have facts to back them up.”_

_“Maybe not. But I believe in_ you _, kitten. That’s what matters.”_

_“I’ll do my best to earn that faith, then.”_

_“I know you will.”_

Following the Judge back out of the room, you moved through the hall, past empty offices that only held their executives during the day. At night, they couldn’t afford to be seen. At night, they allowed themselves to turn a blind eye to the true operation. You left a trail of blood behind you, purposely keeping your shoes on despite the blood that had coated the soles.

Although you knew that Dick was tracking you from outside, a device inside your earrings broadcasting your every move to him, a trail of blood to help him wouldn’t hurt. He’d tried to convince you to wear an earpiece and a mic, some way for him to communicate with you. But you’d talked him down. The Judge would likely notice them immediately, hear anything that he said to you.

For the moment, you were on your own. You hoped that Dick was handling his own part of the operation. You hoped that you were handling your own in a way that wouldn’t endanger either of you. But it was hard to tell. The Judge was an enigma, and if he had picked up on your hesitation, he undoubtedly would not tell you until he judged it to be in his own best interests. The final blow to deal when you were already down.

You just had to make sure he never got the chance.

“Now comes the fun part,” he told you as you walked, stopping in the middle of the hallway. “Tell me, little one, what do you think would be the best way to take care of these lambs?”

“It… depends,” you said after a moment of hesitation, stopping next to him. “Although I have to say, I hope you don’t expect me to take care of all of them.”

“Oh, not at all. In fact, you won’t have to lift a finger.” The Judge pointed to a large monitor that hung ahead of him, showing most of the first floor. “No, they’ll take care of themselves.”

“How?” you asked, approaching the screen. “They’re all drunk.”

“Just watch, little one.” He came to stand behind you, resting a hand on your shoulder. “Watch and learn.”

The music that was faintly playing through the loudspeakers changed. From some pop song you’d heard a thousand times on the radio to a classical piece that you immediately recognized: Dies Irae. When you glanced back at the Judge, you found him holding a small remote, tossing it up and down, up and down with a grim smile. He’d queued it up long before you’d gotten there, of course. A plan behind his plan, a million ways to make sure that he succeeded. The music grew louder and when you glanced back at the screen, you found that everyone on the first floor and frozen in place. No movement, a perfect stillness that caused a shiver to run down your spine.

But just as suddenly as they’d stopped moving, the stillness was replaced by a burst of movement, violence erupting among the crowd. You watched in horror as men and women alike fell upon each other like starving animals, clawing and fighting and screaming. An older man bashed his companion’s head against a blackjack table as she clawed at his face. One of the dealers jumped over the table to shove her thumbs into the eyes of another woman, ignoring the fists that beat at her face and arms. You tried to take a step back, to turn away, but the Judge’s grip on your shoulder tightened.

“No,” he said. “Watch. Look at how well I’ve programmed them. How they know to resort to what they truly are with a simple little melody and a bit of alcohol in their veins.”

You couldn’t look away, transfixed despite how desperately you wanted to run. That cold grip held you captive, some piece of your mind under the Judge’s thrall. No escape. Failure before you could even begin. His breath was warm against your ear, fingers digging into your shoulder with bruising force.

“I can see the hesitance in your heart, little one.” The Judge whispered, his eyes fixated on the screen. “The way it was turned against me. Corrupted by the small amount of humanity that remains in you. A shame, really. I’d hoped you would be willing to learn so that you could do my work when I inevitably return to the sea.”

Words were trapped at the back of your tongue, mouth opening wordlessly. Not a single sound escaped you as you watched his flock kill and maim one another. How long would it take before they were all dead? Was the same thing happening on all the other floors? No sound reached you where you were, but you knew what the screams would sound like. What their begging sounded like. If any of them were even capable of it, having been rendered no more than base, animal instincts. A desire to kill and a desire to dominate. Nothing more.

“Don’t worry,” he said, false care in his voice. “I’ll make sure that you leave a beautiful corpse.”

_“Are you sure that you want to do this?” you asked._

_“Of course I’m sure,” Dick said. “I’m not going to make you do this alone.”_

_“I just… I don’t want to put you in danger.”_

_“I’m choosing to place myself there. We’re partners, Koshka. Wherever you go, I go, too. I won’t abandon you.”_

_“You should. I lied.”_

_“You didn’t abandon me. I’ve already forgiven you. You’re righting the wrong.”_

_“I’m trying to. I can’t promise I’ll succeed.”_

_“Then I’ll be there to make sure you do.”_

Glass shattered, the cold grip keeping you rooted in place disappearing. You felt the Judge’s hand disappear and glanced back just in time to watch him crash through the glass wall of the office next to you.

Dick stood up from the crouch he’d landed in, electric blue of the accents on the Nightwing suit standing out in the darkness. Shaking out his foot, he gave you an apologetic grin.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said. “Took me a bit to pinpoint the best place to crash in so I could kick him in the head.”

“Down!” you snapped, tackling him to the floor just moments before a bullet ripped through the spot his head had been. “Idiot.”

Ignoring his sheepish smile, you let your extra limbs burst forth, staying crouched over Dick as the scales hardened to block another shot aimed at him. At any other time, you would have appreciated the position you were in, the way he looked beneath you. As it was, you were more concerned about the pistol the Judge had produced and the look of manic fury in his eyes.

“Do you have one of those… what do you call them? The stupid little gadgets you throw around,” you hissed, blocking another round.

“They’re called wingdings, babe,” he said.

“Whatever!” you growled. “If you could throw one and get that gun out of his hand, I’d appreciate it.”

Wriggling under you, Dick slipped one of his stupid gadgets from his gauntlet and threw it with unwavering accuracy. The Judge snarled as it hit his hand, gun falling from his grip. The moment it had left his reach you moved, trusting Dick to know what to do as you threw yourself at the snarling man. Bloodied by his trip through the window and stunned by the impact, he was unable to roll out of the way as you closed your hand around his throat in a tight grip. You retracted your extra limbs, baring your teeth in a feral snarl as you squeezed.

“Still relying on your little human lover,” he wheezed, hatred burning in his eyes. “I’m disappointed in you.”

“Turn off the music,” you snapped. “Now.”

“I should have seen the human flaws in you earlier.” The Judge chuckled, a breathless noise under the pressure you were applying to his throat. “Perhaps my excitement at finding another child of the ocean was foolish.”

“It’s not the humanity in me that made me turn on you.” You pinned his wrist under your knee as he tried to reach for the gun. “The human part of me would have been happy to walk away, to let these people who see me as nothing more than trash die, rip each other to shreds. It was the human part of me that you were able to twist into thinking you were anything other than a psychopath. It was Katya who showed me otherwise. Katya who showed me compassion.”

Inhuman Katya, who had shown you the ways in which only an inhuman heart could love and show compassion. Katya, whose voice sometimes still echoed in your head, a soft touch when you needed it. Both forever gone and eternally with you, in every way that mattered. It was because of her that you had seen the error of your ways. If she’d been with you, she would have warned you against trusting the Judge. Seen through his siren call, kept all of this from happening.

Dick laid a hand on your shoulder, the rage that had been so close to boiling over dissipating at his touch. Not in front of him. Not again.

“The remote, in his other hand,” you told him. “It controls the music. Turn it off. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“I’ll be right back.” Dick pried the object in question from the Judge’s fingers, ignoring the angry growl he got in response. “Okay?”

You didn’t respond. After a moment of hesitation, you heard him run off, no doubt trying to find something that would help him figure out the system. If not, he was going to try to shut the thing off at the source. The music looped back around to the beginning as you stared down at the Judge.

“Why do you hate them all so much?” you asked. “What did they ever do to you?”

The Judge laughed, a hateful sound, his eyes never leaving yours. But you did not feel that cold touch again. He’d given up on controlling you, it seemed. Why, you did not know. But you weren’t going to complain.

“You’ll keep your hand around my neck as I tell my story?” he asked, voice hoarse.

“A reminder of the fact that it’s only by my mercy that you live on to tell it,” you told him. “Speak, or I’ll end it all now.”

“Very well,” he said, blinking as blood ran into his eyes. “I’ll satisfy your curiosity. I hate them, because they are what made me. I used to be like your human, once. I believed in God and the human ideal of justice. Of fairness, righteousness. I was a judge in more than name and tried to tend to my flock so that I could weed out the wolves. But the wolves were more convincing. They had power that I did not, in money and politics and blackmail. When I tried to render judgement upon them, I was instead thrown into the sea to die.”

“So, they betrayed you.”

“They did. The Ocean saw my anger, my righteous fury, and turned me into Her agent.” He smiled, let you see the anger in the expression. No vestige of humanity remained. “For centuries I’ve tried to purge the sin from this city. But it is too far gone. Too willing to let corruption blossom inside of it and rot from the inside out. I’ve kept Bludhaven alive by excising that rot for so long. Without me, this city will die.”

“Then let it die.” You shrugged. “Or let them decide to root out the corruption themselves. The only thing that these killing sprees of yours do is sew further chaos. Removing one evil only allows a greater one to take root and replace it. You should know that. Or, well, you would know it if you cared at all about this city you claim to be saving.”

“Your human will hate you when he finds out what you’ve done. When he sees what you’ve become once you’ve killed me.”

“He already knows.” You smiled, pressing down on his throat, letting your claws pierce the skin. “He knew the night I came back from killing his rapist. You don’t give him enough credit. I didn’t, either. He knows what I am and what I’ve done. What I’m going to do. If he hates me, so be it. But I won’t let you use him against me. Not anymore.”

The loop of Dies Irae finally stopped, silence replacing it. Dick had figured it out much quicker than you expected, reminding you yet again that he was much, much smarter than he let on. Letting yourself have a brief moment of relief, you stared down at the Judge. Was there another back up plan? Bombs planted on the premises? Another, sneakier layer of brainwashing that would be triggered later on? You didn’t know, and he certainly wouldn’t tell you. But the anger in his eyes said that you’d defeated him in the ways that mattered most. People were dead, people were injured. Some deserved it, others didn’t.

But you’d proven to yourself that you weren’t beyond saving, beyond redemption.

And there was only one way to ensure this never happened again. Sinking your claws into his skin, you unhinged your jaw and consumed the evil that had plagued Bludhaven for far too long.

\---

“Do they have an official body count yet?” you asked.

Sitting on the roof of a casino across from the fallen Babel, you watched as bodies were wheeled out, police and medics alike milling in the bleeding blue and red lights from their vehicles. Dick sat next to you, mask off as he watched the chaos below.

“Nothing on the scanners or radios yet,” he told you. “But they evacuated a lot more people than they put in body bags.”

“How do you think they’ll spin it?”

Dick sighed, bending one leg up to rest his chin on his knee.

“Hard to tell. Considering all the free drinks being provided, they’ll likely go with a story about it all being spiked and leading to mass hysteria. Pretend to have a lead on a prime suspect until all interest dies down so that they can bury it.”

“You don’t have much faith in your employer,” you said.

“Yeah, well.” He turned to you, expression unreadable. “They haven’t really given me much to believe in.”

You couldn’t look him in the eye, for fear that he would see you for what you had become. A hollow shell of what you once were, wearing human skin and hiding a festering rage beneath it. You let your gaze settle on the blue bird emblazoned across his chest, hands clutching the edge of the roof a bit tighter.

“I’m going back to Gotham in the morning,” you whispered.

“Bruce giving you hell about your extended vacation?” he asked, trying to keep his tone lighthearted.

“No,” you said. “He was happy to give me extra time off, to let me do my work remotely. I just… I need some time to myself, sunshine.”

Silence stretched between you, so many things left unspoken and hanging over your head. Dick looked like you’d punched him in the gut, pain clear on his face at your words. Before he could say anything, you cut him off, staring down at the bodies being wheeled out.

“Not permanently,” you assured him. “Just a little bit of time. So that I can think things over. So that you can think things over. A lot has happened in the last few days that we both need to work through separately.”

“You know that I’m not angry at you, right?” he asked, voice brittle.

“I know,” you said. “But you should be. I lied to you, went behind your back. I betrayed you, Dick. And you just… accepted it so easily. Too easily.”

“Koshka…”

“If you need me, I’ll be there for you. But I think that maybe you should talk to Jason first. Bruce, too.” You hugged your knees to your chest, ignored the way your blood-soaked hoodie stuck to your skin. “They’ll be more objective about all of this.”

“Just promise me that you’ll come back to me,” he begged.

Finally, you looked over at him. At the man you loved, his expression broken and jagged, desperate for words of comfort.

“I promise you, I’ll come back.” You tried to smile, but found it too bitter. Too forced. It hurt, doing this. “I’ll always come back, so long as you still want me.”

Dick just looked at you. Surveyed the heartbreak on your face, the way your fingers curled into your sweatshirt. What else did he see? The corruption you’d eaten, the undying anger that blossomed in your heart, the love that you knew would only grow as time passed. Finally, he spoke, voice soft.

“Before I made detective, I worked a lot with the sexual crimes unit,” he said. “It came with its own special training about how to talk to victims and partners, the best way to take statements without potentially making them relive the trauma in a way that further hurt them. One of the things that they taught us was that partners of victims can show symptoms of PTSD, too. Not the same way, of course, but they are traumatized a lot of the time, too. They called it secondary trauma. Partners would be unable to sleep, could relive their own trauma, feel powerless and helpless, and have intrusive thoughts about their partner’s assault.”

You averted your gaze, stared down at the blood that had seeped into the cracks of your palms, flesh stuck beneath your nails.

“As difficult as this… this whole thing has been for me, I want you to make sure that you get help for it, too,” he told you. “Don’t isolate yourself. Don’t blame yourself. Okay? I don’t… I don’t want you to come back to me hurting more than you are now.”

“You would be worried more about me than about yourself,” you said with a bitter laugh, swiping at a few stray tears that rolled down your cheeks. “I don’t want you to think that I’m abandoning you. I’m not. What happened to you hasn’t changed how I feel about you. I still love you. I just want people who are better at this kind of stuff than me to be with you for a bit. That’s all.”

“I’m not going to lie to you, it hurts.” His voice broke as he turned away, hiding his face. “But I understand.”

“I’ll still be there for you,” you assured him. “I’m only a phone call away, if you need to talk. But I need to do my own thinking. My own healing. And I need you to be sure that you can actually forgive me for this. Not just out of a need to have me stay with you. That will only make all of this worse.”

“I hate when you’re right,” he laughed, bitter and humorless, wiping at his face.

“Well, bad news,” you told him, moving closer to rest your cheek against his shoulder. “I’m right almost all the time.”

Dick continued to laugh-cry, letting you pull him into an embrace, his face buried in your chest. Neither of you were bothered by the blood, by the way his fingers clutched a little too tightly, by the way you had to stare up at the moon to keep your own tears from falling. You hated yourself for hurting him. Hated yourself for having to push him away, even if it was only momentary and for his own good. But you needed to know that he needed you, really needed you, past his own dependency on having someone to hold, a warm body to find comfort in.

It would be hard, but you’d both been through worse. If it was truly meant to be, you would find him in your arms once again.

And until the morning, you would allow yourself to be selfish. Until the sun rose, you would stay by his side, kiss his tears away and pray that he found it in his heart to forgive you for what you’d done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I PROMISE THERE WILL BE A HAPPY ENDING, Y'ALL!!! just trust me on this, ok. these babies just need some time to do healing of their own and not make their relationship toxic and co-dependent. if you don't know what dies irae is, i promise that you've [heard it before](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_jBLyIQvNf0). it's great and spooky and i'm a cliche bitch so of course i used it here.
> 
> thank you as always for reading. i love y'all. be good to yourselves.


	25. Set Me Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: drinking, frank emotional talks and brief discussion of trauma
> 
> _set me free  
>  i'm freely floating in the air  
> set me free  
> these days i feel blue for some reason..._

Before, standing in front of Bruce Wayne in his office had been easy. Delivering your daily reports, updating him on cases you were working and delivering judgement on the people you’d been researching. But in the two weeks since you’d returned to Gotham, it was harder to look him in the eye knowing that he knew what you’d done. That he was speaking to Dick more than you were, doing more to help him than you’d been able to. Of course, there was no judgement in his gaze when you delivered those reports, a professional distance.

But it was inevitable that he would step over that line.

“Before you go, Koshka,” he said, shuffling through the reports you’d placed on his desk. “I have something to discuss with you.”

Ah, you thought. This was the moment when he denounced you, told you to stay away from his oldest son, and fired you.

“Of course, Mr. Wayne,” you said with false confidence.

“Sit down.”

He gestured to one of the empty chairs across from him. You obeyed immediately.

“In the time that you’ve worked here, you’ve done great work,” he started, folding his hands on his desk. “Even when given time off, you’ve gone out of your way to still get work done remotely. You make sure that all angles are covered, and fact check everything before it goes into any of your cases. Not only that, but you are always discreet.”

It was only a matter of time before he let the other shoe drop. Wayne was surely letting you down easy. Keeping a neutral expression on your face was becoming harder by the second.

“As you may know, my personal assistant left his position a few days ago to work for LexCorp. Tim has been doing his best to take on some of those duties, but with his own position in R&D, there is only so much that he can do. We’ve both settled on someone to take the position.” Wayne’s lips twitched into a dry smile. “You can probably see where I’m going with this.”

Much to your shock, you could. You gave a small, silent nod.

“It would be best to have someone who is aware of my… night job in the position, of course,” he continued. “Of course, the position will come with some public scrutiny, as you’ll be with me during PR appearances and in board meetings. Your already long hours will become much longer, too. But you’re the only choice for the job. We all trust you, and I know that you’ll do your best.”

“I…” You had to take a moment, struggling to find the correct words to say in the correct language. It wasn’t often that you were rendered speechless, but Wayne had succeeded. “Please forgive me if this seems rude, sir, but why me?”

“I just told you why,” Wayne said with a short, dry chuckle. “You’re a hard worker, good at your job. The clear choice.”

“But…” you said, voice low, “but what about what I’ve done?”

“Your personal life, especially your relationship with Dick, is none of my business,” he said with a small shrug. “As for the… incident in Bludhaven while you were taking care of him, well. Even the authorities aren’t entirely sure what happened there.”

For everything you’d done, all the people you’d killed and his son, who you’d hurt time and time again, Wayne should have hated you. Your conversations with Jason about his own past with the man had made it clear that forgiveness wasn’t really his thing. But there was a fondness to the little smile he gave you.

“You’re far too hard on yourself, Koshka,” Wayne said. “I think I speak for my entire family, such as it is, when I say that none of us are mad at you. You do your best, even if it isn’t the choice some of us would make. Aside from being hardworking, if I may be more transparent, I know that you’ll hold me accountable. You aren’t afraid to speak your mind with me, which is what I need in an assistant.”

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t have anything you could say to that. Where was this sudden praise even coming from? Wayne had thrown a few ‘good job’s your way, of course, but this was out of left field.

“So,” he said, back to professional in the blink of an eye, “what do you say? Would you like the position? It’ll be a significant pay raise for you.”

“How much of a raise?” you asked, latching easily onto this new factor.

Wayne jotted down a number on a sticky note, handing it over to you. When you saw the amount, you almost burst out laughing. While you were already well paid, this was an _insane_ number. You looked back up at him, almost rolling your eyes at the smug look he wore.

“Plus holiday pay and a quarterly bonus based on profit,” he added. “I think it’s fair, but we can always negotiate higher.”

“No,” you said, “I think that this is more than enough. I would be insane to turn down a salary like that.”

“Well then.” Wayne stood and you did the same, taking his hand and giving it a firm shake. “Tim will start your training tomorrow morning. We’ll worry about finding your replacement later.”

“Thank you, sir,” you said, pulling your hand back and fighting to smother a grin.

“No need to thank me. I’m grateful to have someone running my life again,” he chuckled. “Have a good night, Koshka.”

Giving him a small nod and closing the door to his office behind you with a quiet click, you waited until you had gathered your things and in the elevator before you let out a quiet cheer. After your awkward interactions with Wayne the past few days, you’d fully expected to be fired. But, this time, it seemed that nepotism worked in your favor. A year ago, you would have spat in his face for offering you the job. Now, you weren’t going to be so picky. The hours were going to be brutal, you knew that. And you’d have to deal with far more entitled rich people, both in board meetings and, inevitably, at all those stupid parties Wayne threw.

But it was worth it. A big step in a different direction. You’d miss doing your investigations, of course. It was what you were good at, had always been good at. But you needed to move past that. Move past who you had been and find a new path for yourself. You’d done good work in a past life. Good work that had gotten you killed. If you were going to repair the cracks in your relationships, not only with Dick but with Jason and Barbara too, then you needed to leave that behind you.

Besides, you had a feeling that Wayne was going to have you doing a bit of snooping still, when you weren’t busy reading his emails and making his schedule.

You pulled out your phone, thumb hovering over Jason’s contact before you hesitated. While he hadn’t been hostile in any way, he also hadn’t spoken to you much while he was staying in Bludhaven with Dick. While Jason had been away, you’d felt his absence like a missing limb. Barbara had been busy at the library and with Dinah, only able to meet you for lunch a couple of times. As nice as she was and as good of a friend as she was, it just wasn’t the same. Jason was the only best friend you’d had, and you were scared that he’d hate you now, too. Dick had been the only support system he’d had for a long time, once he’d returned to Gotham and tried to repair his relationship with his family instead of breaking it further. Taking a deep breath, you shook your head.

Fuck it. It was worth at least trying. You shot off a quick text asking if he was back in Gotham, hoping he was. You wanted to celebrate, but Barbara and Dinah were out of town and you weren’t close enough to Tim to ask him.

Jason’s response was immediate.

_yeah, got back this morning. whats up?_

Heaving a sigh of relief, you stepped out of the elevator and made your way outside before you sent another text to him.

_free tonight? got some good news and want to celebrate. new batch of kvass is ready to go._

There was a much longer span of time before his next text came through, long enough for you to be afraid that he’d turn you down. When your phone vibrated, you jumped, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk and ignoring angry passerby as you read it.

_always got time for you. what time should I come over?_

_give me a couple hours,_ you texted back. _it’ll be good to see you again._

 _sounds good. will let you know when I’m headed up_ , he responded.

Pocketing your phone, you tried to ride a little wave of joy. Things were looking up, after all. Your best friend was back in town, you got a raise and a promotion, you were getting to celebrate.

But there was a huge hole in your heart. One that you weren’t certain you could fill yet. And as you returned to the complex, riding the elevator up to a condo not in your name, you found that the joy rang hollow without Dick Grayson there to experience it with you.

\---

The kvass was consumed quickly once Jason got to the condo, what you’d thought was a sizable batch gone in a matter of two hours. You tried to tell yourself that the main reason for it was that the batch you’d made was just that good (the added honey had definitely been a good idea), but you knew that wasn’t the only reason. Your kvass was only about 4%, neither of you got drunk easily, and both of you needed a bit more liquid courage to talk about the enormous elephant in the room.

So, you broke out a bottle of Nemiroff honey pepper vodka that you’d been saving for a special occasion and two shot glasses. Jason matched you shot for shot until you’d almost finished the bottle and found your tongues loosened.

“Has Dickie boy reached out to you yet?” Jason slurred, first to step over that boundary.

You’d set out slices of black bread and pickles, doctor’s sausage and caviar you’d picked up on the way home to snack on as you drank. Eating a spoonful of the caviar, you heaved a heavy sigh.

“No,” you admitted. “He hasn’t.”

“And you haven’t reached out to him.” Jason frowned at you, shoving a whole slice of bread in his mouth, speaking through it. “You’re both too stubborn.”

“I’m a Slav,” you offered up as your weak defense. “Being stubborn is in my blood.”

“I don’t think I have to explain to you just how fucking stupid that sounds,” he scoffed, pouring another shot for both of you. “It’s okay to admit that you’re hurting.”

“Rich coming from you,” you muttered.

Immediately, you regretted your words. They carried a sharpness, a hurt that you had dismissed in the middle of your own. Jason visibly flinched, hesitating before he downed his shot. While you were sitting up on the kitchen counter, he’d been leaned on the one across from you. He turned away, going to the fridge so he could pretend to look through it.

“Jay,” you whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he said, voice rough with emotion. With his back to you, you couldn’t see his face. “You aren’t wrong. I just… god, Lili, you know how hard it is to deal with you two right now? I love both of you, but it’s so much. Dick’s trying to pretend that he’s fine, even though he clearly misses you and I had to listen to him have nightmares every single night for the past two weeks. You’re trying to pretend that you’re fine, even though you clearly miss him, and now you’re trying to drown yourself in alcohol just to get yourself vulnerable enough to actually talk about how you feel. You say that this was for celebration, but you’re not happy. You can’t fool me.”

He was right. Of course he was right. In the months that you’d spent getting to know him and him getting to know you, Jason had displayed an emotional intelligence that was, quite frankly, terrifying. Nothing escaped him, no matter how hard you tried to hide it. You took your shot and set down the glass, staring down at your hands.

“I want to be happy,” you told him. “And it’s not that I’m unhappy. It’s just… it’s hard, Jay. I’m sorry that we’re putting you in this position. I know that it’s not easy for you.”

“You’re right,” he said, “it’s not easy. It’s hard. But I love both of you, despite how fucking _stupid_ you both are, so I do it anyways. God, you’ve spent so many nights talking me down and letting me stay here when I was going through my own shit. But I just… I needed you to know that this has collateral outside of your own feelings.”

“I know.” Clearing your throat, you waited until he turned to glance at you before you opened your arms. “You know I love you, too, right?”

Jason rolled his eyes, but closed the fridge and walked over so that you could hug him, urging him to rest his head on your shoulder.

“You don’t believe it,” he muttered into your shirt, “but you’re not a bad person. I’ve done worse than you, and for far more selfish reasons. You deserve to have someone like Dick in your life. You deserve to have a good job and a second chance at life. So stop punishing yourself.”

“You’re not a bad person either, you know.” You sighed when he wrapped his arms around you, massaging his scalp. “So, right back at you. You deserve love, too. And you’ll find it, one day. I know you will.”

Jason didn’t respond to that last part. Honestly, you hadn’t expected him to. Because he tried his best not to lie to you, and he also did his best not to hurt you. And his honest answer to a simple ‘you deserve love’ would have broken your heart. So, instead, you held each other, broken heart to broken heart, and tried your best to comfort him in the only way he would let you.

“So,” he mumbled into your shoulder after a while, “what insane salary did Bruce offer you to make you agree to be his babysitter?”

When you quoted the figure to him, Jason had to pull back, doubling over in laughter. Face flushed and eyes watering, he looked up at you.

“Holy shit,” he said.

“Yeah,” you snickered. “His life would fall apart without someone outside of Alfred dictating his entire goddamn schedule.”

“Do you realize,” he said through barely contained laughter, “how much power you have over one of the most wealthy motherfuckers in the goddamn country now?”

“Why do you think I accepted the job?”

Your response was rewarded by loud laughter from Jason, boisterous and genuine. He swiped at his watering eyes, desperately trying to catch his breath as he leaned against the counter next to you.

“I almost feel sorry for Bruce,” he managed to chuckle, still breathless. “Almost.”

“He knows what he’s getting himself into by putting me in that position,” you pointed out, eating another spoonful of caviar. “I mean, he dresses himself up in a leather bat costume. At some level he enjoys it.”

“Oh, gross.” Jason’s face screwed up in disgust. “Don’t say it like that.”

You just smiled, watching him as he ate another slice of bread and began to nibble at a piece of sausage, expression turning contemplative. After months of drinking and hanging out with Jason, you knew what that look meant.

“Hey, Lili?” he said, voice quiet.

“Yeah?”

“Do me a favor and call Dick tomorrow.”

“I… I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” you admitted.

“It is.” There was a sad edge to his smile, eyes hazy from the vodka. “Just trust me on this one, okay? Call him. There’s nothing to be afraid of there.”

Although you weren’t convinced, you knew better than to argue with him. When he was drunk, he had a terrible habit of not wanting to budge from points he suddenly decided to put all of his belief in. This, you knew, was one of those beliefs. So, you simply shrugged and changed the subject. He was happy to talk about some of the books he’d read recently with you instead, sitting down on the floor and holding onto your ankle as he told you all about a short story collection he’d just finished and a few horror novels that he swore you’d love. You simply listened to him, glad to know that not only was he not mad at you for what you’d done, but never once brought it up. There was no mention of Babel, and Dick didn’t come up again.

Shortly before midnight Jason yawned and let you persuade him to stay the night. He let you shove some of Dick’s pajamas in his arms and pressed a sloppy kiss to your forehead before he wandered off to pass out in the guest bedroom. Once the door clicked shut, you heaved a heavy sigh. With your training the next morning, you would have to get up early, make sure you were dressed appropriately instead of throwing on whatever looked comfortable and wouldn’t get you in trouble with Bruce. You wandered into the bathroom, filling up the tub and setting your phone on the counter. Setting an alarm for just after sunrise, you closed the door and stripped down.

The water was warm and welcoming, soothing your scales and your frayed nerves. The water did not judge. The water simply embraced your aching body and lulled you to sleep, more comfortable than sleeping alone in the bed.

In your dreams, cold, slippery limbs cradled you and an ancient, melodic voice sang lullabies that mended the cracked pieces of your heart.

\---

By the time you left the condo, Jason was still asleep with Penny curled up in the bed next to him, snoring loudly. You left a bottle of aspirin and a glass of water on the end table for him, gave Penny a short scratch behind the ears, and left as quietly as you could. You had given yourself far more time than you’d really needed, so you stopped to get coffee on the way to work. Although you’d been worried that wearing your nice heels would make your feet ache, you were pleasantly surprised to find that they were fine by the time you got to the tower.

Tim was waiting for you in the lobby, slouched and looking like he was five seconds away from toppling over. Approaching him, you handed him the cup you’d gotten for him with a smug grin.

“Americano with four shots of espresso,” you told him. “I tried to get five, but the barista said it would kill me.”

Giving you a small grunt that you knew to be a thank you, he took the cup from you and took a long swig. Once he gave his body a moment to process the pure shock of caffeine it was getting, he motioned for you to follow him.

“Bruce has me scheduled out of R&D for today and tomorrow so that I can train you,” he said, voice groggy, as you got in the elevator. “But it’s really not hard. I mean, the hardest part is gonna be learning who is who and whose emails to ignore instead of forwarding them to Bruce, which just takes time.”

As Tim prattled on about the different programs you’d be using, you found your thoughts drifting. Even as you followed him to your new desk, several instruction manuals for the phone and the computer laid out, you weren’t really paying attention. Just enough to absorb what was important, of course, but you wondered how Dick was doing. If he was at the precinct, if he would answer the phone when you called him after work. Even as Tim set up email filters for you, wrote down notes of who was who and what to prioritize, you just couldn’t focus. You tried. Poor kid was taking time away from his own responsibilities, after all.

If he noticed that you weren’t all there, weren’t giving him all of your attention, he didn’t say anything. Time passed quickly, Wayne emerging from his office while you were adding new events to his calendar. Both you and Tim looked up at the same time, earning a twitch of a smile from him.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said.

“It’s fine,” Tim said with a small yawn. “What’s up, Bruce?”

“I have a lunch meeting with a few Kordtronics people. Koshka, I think it would be good for you to come, take some notes.” Wayne glanced at Tim. “Tim, you can head back over to R&D for the rest of the day, but keep your phone on in case Koshka has any questions for you.”

“Rodger that.” Tim straightened, grunting as his back popped from his stooped position behind you. “You’ll be good for the rest of the day?”

“Yep.” You gave a small shrug. “Doesn’t seem too hard.”

With that, Tim left, giving you a small wave before he turned the corner towards the elevator. You stood from your desk, pausing to slip a notepad and pen into your purse before you turned back to Wayne. He regarded you with a guarded expression, hands in his pockets. You stared right back at him, pushing in your chair and tilting your head.

“Well, Mr. Wayne,” you said, “shall we go?”

Wayne let out a soft grunt and led the way to the elevator. To break the awkward silence, you spoke up, adjusting your purse on your shoulder.

“So, where is this meeting at?”

“Have you ever been to Varka?” he asked, glancing down at you.

“The obscenely expensive seafood place just down the street?” You snorted. “No, I haven’t. It’s a little out of my price range.”

“Well, lucky for you, Kordtronics is paying.” There was a wicked edge to the little smirk he gave you, head tilted towards you. “They’re very generous.”

You snorted again, in amusement this time. While Wayne had never particularly come across as intimidating to you, he’d always had an unapproachable vibe, a quiet barrier that he put up when you made your reports or called to update him on cases you’d worked. It was nice to see him loosen up a little bit. See just a little bit of the infamous charm that the society pages seemed to go on and on about. Ever a gentlemen, he let you exit the elevator first and held open the door to the lobby for you. Tipping your chin up and trying your best to exude confidence, you followed a half step behind him as he led you to the restaurant.

“Anything I should know before we head inside?” you asked, voice low.

“We’ll be meeting with Ted Kord and his assistant, Angela Revere,” he answered, bending closer so that only you would hear him. “Their headquarters is in Chicago, but they have a small facility here that we manage with them. Kord is more of a scientist than a businessman, but he’s still shrewd and smart. Angela’s nice. Hardworking.”

“I’m guessing that they’re visiting for an update on the facility?”

“Correct.” Wayne gave you another tiny grin, opening the door to Varka for you. “Just make notes of anything that sounds important. Kord will offer to buy you a glass of wine, but try to be polite when you turn him down.”

“I promise to be nice.”

Wayne took the lead from that point, letting the maître d take you to a private table where Kord and his assistant were. He introduced you, you gave them a polite greeting, and then everyone got down to business. Kord did, in fact, offer to buy you wine, and you put on your most charming smile as you refused it. Wayne gave you a small nod of approval and ordered your meal for you. While you would have been annoyed, you were also terrified to see what the food cost, and trusted his judgement.

After all, the man had clearly been to the restaurant several times before.

The food came out (a nice fish that you could not identify and, frankly, didn’t care to identify, with a nice fancy salad on the side) and you took small bites in between jotting down anything that seemed important. Kord’s assistant was doing the same, and flashed you a tiny smile when you caught her eye. Most of what they were discussing didn’t seem at all familiar, specific names and phrases and acronyms being used that were unique to the shared facility. You’d quickly caught onto a small facial tic that Wayne had, a way the right corner of his mouth would twitch when something seemed to bother him. Anything that was said before or directly after that little tic, you made sure to write down.

The hour passed quickly, your notebook full of messy notes as Wayne stood and motioned for you to do the same. Getting the last bite of fish in your mouth, you stood by as the two men said goodbye, Kord casually handing off his credit card to the server without even glancing at the bill.

Rich people truly did live in a different reality.

As you both walked back towards the Tower, Wayne spoke up, gaze straight ahead and hands in his pockets.

“What all did you pick up on during the meeting?” he asked.

Ah, shit. You didn’t want to pull out your notebook and wracked your memory for anything that had struck you as particularly important. Voice even despite the slight panic you felt, you took a large step forward to walk directly beside him.

“Well, there was a lot. But what stood out to me the most was the zoning permits you would need for the new wing you wanted to build dedicated to unknown gasses and chemicals found in some smaller attacks in the Butcher’s Block region,” you started, clasping your hands behind you. “Along with the new NIR and Capillary HPLC that Tim made modifications to for Kord’s people, which are still being tested. Oh, and Kord seemed a bit annoyed when you told him about the board wanting to see more of a focus on mass production titration equipment instead of the specialized units they’ve been making.”

Wayne looked down at you. You looked up at him, poker face firmly in place. After a moment, he finally let out a pleased little grunt, opening the door to Wayne Tower for you.

“I knew you were a good choice,” he said.

It seemed that you had passed his little test. Chest swelling with pride, you went back up to his office and typed out your notes for him. For the remainder of the afternoon, you worked with mechanical efficiency, managing to remember all of the important things Tim had taught you as you readjusted meetings for the following week, confirmed receipt of confidential documents in Wayne’s email, and sent him your notes from the lunch meeting. The sun was setting before you knew it, time continuing to pass quickly. Wayne ordered you to go home half past 7, confirming that you would be there same time the next morning.

As you gathered your things and powered off your computer, you checked your phone. One new text was waiting for you, reminding you of what you’d been trying to distract yourself from the entire day.

 _please call dick_ , Jason had texted you. _or I’ll kick your ass._

Oh, you’d like to see him try. Both of you knew that wasn’t a fight that he would win. But you got the message. Heaving a sigh, you dragged yourself out of the building, staring down at the dark screen and trying to gather your courage.

There were so many things you were afraid of. You were afraid that Dick would ignore you, refuse to speak to you after what you’d done. You were afraid that he’d break up with you over the phone, doing his best to be gentle but unable to keep your heart from crumbling to pieces. You were afraid that he’d finally seen all the worst parts of you and no longer wanted you.

But you weren’t going to be a coward. Your mother had not raised some wilting flower for a daughter. Kicking savagely at the concrete and immediately regretting it when your shoe was scuffed, you swallowed your fear and your pride and tapped the tiny little phone icon next to Dick’s contact. Slowly, you raised the phone to your ear.

It rang. And it rang. And it rang. Your heart dropped when the ringing stopped and instead of a cheerful greeting, you got Dick’s voicemail.

The Doctor had warned you against catastrophizing. You had a terrible tendency towards it, expecting the worst and bracing for it, even if it never came to pass. But even with her voice in your head telling you to _calm the fuck down_ , you couldn’t help but panic.

God, he was ignoring you. Jason had told you just to call him because he wanted to let you down easy. Didn’t want to tell you to your face that it was all over. Sure, Jason had said that Dick missed you, but maybe he’d just said that to make you feel better. Your confident stride had turned into a depressed slouch as you reached the building and waved to the guard at the desk as you entered the elevator.

It was already over. Just as you had hit a high, life had decided to punch you right back down. Not that you didn’t deserve it, of course. You did. Dick would find someone better than you, someone better for him. And you would move on, eventually. You were already planning to finish off what remained of the Nemiroff when the elevator doors slid open. Grumbling, you fished your keys out of your purse, glancing up and freezing in place as the doors slid shut behind you.

Dick Grayson leaned against the front door of the condo, hair in his eyes and hands in his pockets. He looked just as shocked as you were, but quickly recovered.

“Hey,” he said, voice soft.

“… Hey,” you answered after a moment, still shocked. “I… I tried calling you.”

“Oh.” He blinked, straightening up. “Sorry. Um, my phone must have been on silent. I’ve been waiting for you to get back.”

“I stayed late to finish up a few things.” You finally shook yourself out of your daze, moving to unlock the door. “You still have your keys, right?”

“Yeah,” he admitted, clearing his throat as he followed you inside. “But I figured it wouldn’t be a good idea to ambush you inside the condo. Outside the door seemed the, uh, more respectful option.”

At that moment, as you hung up your purse and let Penny out of her crate (you’d have to thank Jason for doing that for you later), you realized that he’d waited outside in case you turned him away. In case you’d rejected him and kicked him out of the condo that was in his own damn name. Stupid man. But you couldn’t deny the way your heart swelled a bit, the dog rushing past you to throw herself at Dick with delighted barks. His laugh was hesitant, uncertain as he knelt to pet her, let her lick at his mouth and chin.

“How have you been?” you asked, cautious.

Dick didn’t answer immediately. He frowned, gently pushing Penny away before he stood and ran a hand over his face. Dark stubble shadowed his jaw, bags under his eyes betraying his exhaustion. It took every ounce of strength you had not to run to him, to embrace him and try to comfort him that way.

As desperately as you wanted to shower him in affection, you knew that he would have to be the first to initiate it.

“Not great,” he finally said, voice low. When he looked up at you, his smile didn’t reach his eyes, dimples shallow. “Jason was a lot of help, actually. But, I just… Everything really hit me all at once, you know? I’d been trying so hard to bury it and not acknowledge… what happened, and it was almost overwhelming, at first. It’s… It’s hard to look at certain shades of red. Sitting at the desk next to where she was, it was torture.”

You remained still, standing far enough away that you could give him space, but close enough that he could reach out and touch you if he wanted. Penny sat next to you, a soft, confused whine escaping her. You let her lick at your fingers, taking a deep breath. But there were no words to really say. Because you knew that there was more he needed to say.

“I put in my resignation,” he continued. “I just… I couldn’t stay there. Not after what happened, the way they were so willing to bury what happened to me, what happened to Flores. I want to stay in Bludhaven, but I just… I don’t know what to do. I needed a break. I…” His voice broke, eyes watering as he let out a depressed little laugh. “I needed to see you. I needed to talk to you, to… to hear you tell me that everything was going to be okay.”

“Dick…” You swallowed a lump in your throat, hesitating before you offered your hand to him. “I told you that I would be here for you. That hasn’t changed. It never will.”

In the blink of an eye Dick had crossed the space between you, pulling you into a bone-crushing hug, face buried in your hair. You immediately wrapped your arms around him, pressed as close as you could. Tried your best to shelter him as he shook, held back tears that you wish he’d just cry. Closing your eyes, you pressed your cheek to his chest, felt the steady beat of his heart and let the musky scent of his cologne wash over you.

“I want to get better,” he cried, breath hitching as you rubbed circles against his back. “But I need help.”

“You do,” you murmured, “and you will get better. I know you will. It just… it’s going to take a lot of hard work. And it won’t happen all at once. But if you’re sure that you want me to be there with you every step of the way, then I’ll be there.”

“I wouldn’t want anyone else there with me.”

You both stood there for a while, simply holding each other, basking in one another’s presence after what had felt like an eternity. In only two short weeks so much had happened. Although you also knew that you would struggle to come to terms with everything you’d done, with the nasty little voice that sometimes seemed to creep into the corners of your mind, you knew that you could find that peace. If it meant keeping Dick, keeping the person who had given you so much and asked nothing of you, you would do anything. You only pulled away from him when Penny whined, pawing at your leg.

“Ugh, of course,” you sighed. As nice as the penthouse was, you couldn’t just toss the dog outside to do her business like you had with your little house. “I need to take her out for a walk. Do you want to come?”

“Yeah.” Dick smiled, and this time, it reached his eyes. “That sounds nice.”

You reached up to wipe a few stray tears from his cheeks before stepping away, picking up Penny’s leash and a few baggies. After retrieving your keys, you looked back at Dick and held out your hand.

“Come on,” you said, ignoring the dog straining at her leash. “We have a lot to catch up on.”

“Yeah.” Dick let out a small laugh. “Yeah, we do.”

He took your hand, lacing his fingers with yours, and you knew in your heart that eventually, everything would be alright.

Your life would never get a fairy tale happy ending. But this? This, you could accept. Even with all the heartache, the bloodshed, the damage that would need to be repaired slowly over time, it was worth it. This was your happy ending. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i told you that they would get a happy ending!!! i follow through, y'all!!!!! one last chapter and then this fic will be ending after almost a year... it's a little surreal. a few loose ends will be tied up in the last chapter. but this won't be the last you see of dick and koshka, i promise. eventually i'd like to have a place to collect little drabbles and aus for this little fic universe, and i promise you they'll show up there. i love them too much to let them go so easily lol
> 
> thank you as always for reading!! i love y'all. be good to yourselves. 
> 
> [recommended listening](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lGOhQ9khjRA)


	26. What the Water Gave Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: brief mention of trauma, brief sexual content, tooth-rotting fluff
> 
> _lay me down  
>  let the only sound  
> be the overflow_

As you creamed together butter and sugar a bit more aggressively than was necessary, phone pressed between your ear and your shoulder, you tried to remember why the hell you’d even accepted the position of Bruce Wayne’s personal babysitter.

“Yes, Mr. Wayne,” you said through gritted teeth. “Your schedule was finalized last night before I left the office. It should all be in your email.”

Honestly, what was even the point of taking a day off, when this was your sixth phone call of the day?

“Ah, just now saw it,” Wayne said, with that stupid stoic voice of his. “Thank you, Koshka.”

“You’re welcome.” It was hard to keep the venom from your tone as you set down the mixing bowl, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Please don’t forget about your tickets to the Gotham Ballet tonight. You need to show up at least once, after the donation you gave them. Since I’m busy, I asked Cassandra to go with you.”

“Wonderful,” he said, voice approaching something like cheer. “She does enjoy the ballet.”

Cassandra Cain did, indeed, enjoy ballet. The few times that you’d met Bruce Wayne’s newly adopted daughter, she’d been very enthusiastic about it. Although she was non-verbal, you’d learned enough sign language to communicate with her haltingly, supported by the little notepad and pen she’d taken to carrying with her. In fact, you’d purposely scheduled for Wayne to make his appearance on the one night you’d taken off purely so that the girl could go.

“Before I let you go,” Wayne said, continuing to not get it through his thick head that you just wanted to be left alone, “did Dick’s gift get there okay?”

Leaning just far enough to look out the kitchen, you stared at the wrapped package that had been delivered earlier in the day. Whatever it was, you were sure that it had a price tag that would make you choke, and you’d carefully avoided coming within five feet of where the delivery guy had placed it in the living room, leaned against the sofa.

“Yes, sir,” you confirmed. “Anything else, Mr. Wayne?”

“Koshka.” Wayne heaved a sigh that you’d become _far_ too familiar with. “Please. _Please_ just call me Bruce.”

“I’ll assume that’s all the assistance that I can provide for you at the moment, _Mr. Wayne_ ,” you responded, false cheer to your voice that you knew grated on his nerves. “Dick should be here any moment, so please make sure to only contact me in the case of an emergency, okay? And tell Cass that I said hello.”

Before he could respond, you ended the call, suppressing the urge to smash your phone on the ground. While you appreciated the second chance that Wayne had given you (as well as the sizeable paycheck), it was moments like these, when he was unable to respect your personal and professional boundaries, that made you lose your temper. In the months since you’d accepted the position, it had become common for you to be dragged out of bed at all hours to run some silly errand for the man. You knew that what you dealt with was only a fraction of what Alfred went through, and your respect for the man had only grown each time you dragged yourself into the office at 3 am to try and patch together some mistake that had slipped through the cracks.

More than once, you had saved massive deals from falling through. Not only on Bruce’s end, but for other CEOs, inserting yourself into messy situations with as much grace as you could, teeth clenched and a polite smile on your face. While Bruce had been very gracious and recognized each of these victories, they still didn’t lesson the blow of the many, many times you’d been with Dick and had to sacrifice your personal life in order to put out fires someone at Wayne Enterprises had started.

Silencing your phone and tossing it into the living room so that it landed on one of the chairs, you turned your attention back to the cake that you’d been trying to make for the past few hours. You refused to be distracted any further, furiously beating together the ingredients while Penny watched from the dog bed you’d placed in the kitchen for her. She’d grown to be huge as an adult, taking up a large amount of space on the bed and constantly seeming to be completely unaware of her own size and mass. But you had a quiet little soft spot for her and enjoyed her company, so it had been a natural decision to place her third dog bed (the first two had been purchased by Dick, who you blamed her spoiling on) in the kitchen so she could be with you when you cooked.

After several minutes of her staring at you longingly, you broke and opened the fridge to rip off a piece of doctor’s sausage, tossing it to her. Penny ate it eagerly, tail wagging hard enough that her whole body shook, before she went back to her bed and promptly fell asleep.

“Brat,” you mumbled, half-hearted. Spoiled as she was, you still loved her.

By the time you got the cake tins in the oven, diligently cleaning the dishes you’d dirtied, the sun had begun to set. You’d hoped to have the damn thing cooled off and iced by that point, but of course things just couldn’t be that easy. The cake was supposed to be a surprise for Dick when he returned home, but it was clear that things simply were not going to go that way. When you heard the lock turn and the tell tale click of the door opening, you’d made peace with the fact that what plans you’d made simply weren’t going to go smoothly. You were used to it by this point, of course. But that didn’t make it any less frustrating.

“I’m home!” Dick called out, voice cheery.

At least it had been a good day. You slumped in relief, glad that at least you wouldn’t be facing the effects of a bad day on top of your own continued interruptions. Walking out of the kitchen, you leaned against the doorway and watched him diligently hang up his keys on the hook next to your own, his sport coat neatly folded over one arm as he turned to grin at you.

“Welcome home,” you said, giving him a fond smile of your own. “How was work?”

A few weeks after he’d resigned from the police department, Dick had taken a position as a victim advocate working for the Bludhaven women’s center. It was a difficult job, one that had him coming home some nights with a haunted look in his eyes. But it gave him a purpose, made him feel like he was finally doing something important. Undoing some of the damage of the department that he’d once worked for, and fighting for people who had been through similar experiences as him. Not a day went by when you weren’t proud of him and proud of what he was doing, the perfect blend of his charisma, kindness, and silent fury shining through in his work.

“It was good!” His grin was infectious as he strode over to you, bending to press a brief kiss to the corner of your lips. “Couple of the cases made good progress today. And the ladies all bought me lunch and coffee, too.”

“Mm, of course they did.” You chuckled, pressing a returning kiss to his jaw before you stepped back. “I was going to have a cake prepared to surprise you, but Bruce happened.”

Dick heaved a dramatic sigh, following after you as you stepped back into the kitchen so that he could crouch and give Penny a scratch behind the ears.

“Of course,” he said. “No such thing as a day off, huh?”

“Of course not.” You snorted, rinsing off the last mixing bowl and setting it on the drying rack. “Is there anything in particular you’d like for dinner?”

“Honestly?” He wrapped his arms around you, rested his chin on top of your head as you leaned into him with a content hum. “Some Thai takeout, a bottle of wine, and a bad movie sound perfect.”

“Whatever the birthday boy wants, the birthday boy will get,” you chuckled, resting a hand over his. “So long as it doesn’t lead to the cake that I’ve been trying to make for hours burning.”

“I’ll be good,” he laughed, giving you a gentle squeeze. “Well, at least until you finish the cake.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” you said, slipping free of his embrace and wiping your damp hands on your leggings. “Why don’t you call in an order for us and pick out a wine to open up? Bruce also had your present delivered. It’s still wrapped up in the living room.”

Just like that, Dick skidded out of the kitchen, eager to go and see what overpriced gift Bruce had bought him. You chuckled, doublechecking that you had set a timer for the cake before you followed him out. Dick had already torn into the parchment wrapping on the gift, tossing huge pieces of it behind him and making a mess. Deciding to be nice on his birthday, you quietly picked up after him, bundling the shreds under your arm as you rounded the couch to see what he had gotten.

“Whoa,” you said.

“I wasn’t expecting to get this so soon!” Dick exclaimed, admiring the painting that he held carefully, the gilded frame no doubt heavy as hell. “Man, B really came through.”

You vaguely remembered the appointment that Wayne had set up with an artist a few weeks back, one that he’d been reluctant to divulge many details about. Smiling, you leaned against the back of the couch, admiring the family portrait. The details in the oil painting were stunning, the way the artist had captured each person’s personality perfectly. Bruce and Damian wore matching somber, stoic expressions, Jason looked vaguely uncomfortable but not unhappy, Dick wore his signature charming grin (dimples rendered in loving detail), Tim looked exhausted but glad, smile a bit crooked, and Cassandra looked like she was bursting with joy.

“The old portrait at the estate doesn’t have Jason or Cass in it,” Dick told you, smile soft as he admired the painting. “I wanted one for myself that had all of the family, even if Jason’s still legally dead and Cass’ adoption papers just recently went through.”

“Where do you want to hang it?” you asked softly, resting a hand on his shoulder.

“Probably here, in the living room,” he told you, glancing up at you with a proud grin.

Although the commute from Gotham to Bludhaven was a difficult one, Dick had officially moved into the condo with you a few weeks after he got his new job. He wanted to be around his family more, and you’d been glad to have him around. Although he did still have a safehouse in Bludhaven that he slept in a few nights a week when he was patrolling as Nightwing, most nights he came home to you, always greeting you with a smile. It was new and different, something you were still getting used to, but a great source of happiness for you. Another source of stability, another layer of solid foundation in your relationship.

Setting the portrait aside where Penny couldn’t get to it and covering it with a thick blanket until it could be hung (you’d both agreed it would be best to have a professional come and do it for you), you returned to the kitchen while Dick put in an order for food. You’d demolished a raw pork loin earlier in the day, so you weren’t particularly hungry, but you could save whatever wasn’t eaten for a lunch to bring in on another day and share a bottle of wine with him. You selected a Bordeaux Supérieur that Bruce had gifted you after you’d saved a deal with a pharma group, the mere idea of pairing such a fine wine with take out attractive.

The food was delivered just after you’d pulled the cakes out of the oven, turned them out onto cooling racks to rest until they were ready to be frosted. With the wine opened and two glasses poured, you joined Dick on the couch, curling up against him as he queued up a bad horror movie that neither of you had watched yet. You stole a few bites of his food but focused more on sipping at your wine, head resting on his shoulder and basking in the pure domestic bliss of the moment.

For a while, intimate moments had been difficult. You’d both agreed that it would be best for Dick to always initiate things, for you to ask gently if you ever wanted anything. His normally _very_ healthy and active sex drive had taken a hit, the most he was comfortable with for the first few weeks after he’d returned to you being a bit of fooling around before he had to stop. You’d quickly figured out that he needed to have a sense of control when you did have sex, still struggled with any positions that had you on top. But you’d easily slipped into a more submissive role, happy with whatever made him feel safe and secure. Although he’d never asked you to, never brought it up in the quiet, halting discussions you’d had about what he’d discovered as his triggers, you’d gotten rid of your red lipstick, the color churning your own stomach. You’d grown comfortable with simply enjoying the small ways that Dick showed physical affection. The way he always kissed you goodbye in the mornings and hello at night. The way he easily slung his arm around you when you cuddled up on the couch, the little patterns he’d draw with the tip of his finger into the soft scales on your upper arm. The way he nuzzled into your neck and hair, the gentle squeeze of his embrace and how eagerly he would rest his head in your lap, demanding that you play with his own hair and massage his scalp.

Penny had hopped up on the couch with you, waiting patiently until Dick had finished his food so that she could curl up half on his lap, too big to really fit anymore but not letting it stop her from getting affection from him. Standing up once the dog has settled down and the movie had ended, you ignored the pout that Dick gave you, picking up the empty containers and refilling both wine glasses.

“Babe,” he whined after you as you retreated to the kitchen and threw away the takeout boxes, “come back.”

“You’ll survive not having me there for a few minutes while I ice your cake, you baby,” you called back, rolling your eyes. “Besides, you have the dog there.”

Whatever complaints he’d had were silenced by the mention of cake, although you could make out a bit of grumbling from the living room as you pulled out the frosting you’d made earlier. It didn’t take long to assemble and ice the cake, as you didn’t particularly have the patience to try to do anything fancy with it and Dick certainly wouldn’t complain as long as it tasted good. Candles shoved into the top and lit with a cheap cigarette lighter you’d picked up at the corner store, you carefully made your way back out into the living room. Softly singing, you knelt on the floor in front of him, holding up the cake once you’d finished. Eyes glinting and expression soft in the warm glow of the candles, he closed his eyes and made a silent wish before he blew them out. Penny watched, tail giving a hopeful wag as you set the cake down on the coffee table and retrieved two plates, utensils, and a knife. Dick had waved her off, her soft whine echoing from the guest room when you returned.

“How does it feel to be thirty?” you asked, handing him a sizable slice of the cake and getting a much smaller slice for yourself.

“About the same as it felt being twenty-nine,” he chuckled, taking a huge bite of the cake and letting out a pleased hum. “Kitten, this cake is amazing.”

“I got the recipe from Alfred,” you admitted, settling down with your back against his legs. “So all credit should go to him. I’m glad you like it.”

“His double chocolate cake recipe, right? You know me so well,” Dick said, leaning forward to plant a sloppy kiss on your forehead and ignoring your half-hearted scowl. “But seriously, thank you. I really appreciate this.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t get you a big fancy gift like Bruce,” you sighed. “But I did what I could.”

“There’s nothing in the world I’d want more than to spend my birthday with you,” he said, voice soft and syrupy sweet. “Just having you here is the best gift of all.”

“Gross,” you mumbled through a mouthful of cake, a traitorous flush to your cheeks. “I do have a gift to give you, but it has to wait until after cake.”

“Oh?” he said, clearly intrigued.

“Patience is a virtue,” you told him, tipping your head back to smirk up at him. “I promise that it will be _very_ worth the wait.”

The unspoken promise of birthday sex had Dick stuffing his face with cake, patience clearly not being something he was at all interested in. You laughed, setting down your own half-finished slice and turning to face him, resting your chin on his knee.

“Slow down or you’re going to make yourself sick,” you scolded, tone playful.

“Well I can’t just take my sweet time with a promise like that,” he pointed out through a mouthful of cake, expression eager. “I want my gift, Kitten.”

“Greedy boy.”

With a light laugh, you sat up, wiping a smear of icing at the corner of his lips off with your thumb. Finishing off the last few bites of his cake, Dick tossed aside the plate and tried to grab you, letting out a frustrated growl when you ducked out of the way, grabbing the cake and stepping away from the couch with a sly grin.

“We can’t just leave a chocolate cake lying around where Penny can get to it,” you told him in answer to the whine he let out. “Let me put this away. You bring the dishes in and then we can get to the gift, okay?”

Although he was still pouting, Dick obediently picked up the dishes and your wine glasses, trailing after you into the kitchen. After you’d covered the cake and put it in the fridge, he scooped you up, ignoring your surprised yelp and hauling you over his shoulder as he made his way towards the bedroom.

“Dick!” you squealed, laughing as he deposited you on the bed. “You’re so impatient today.”

“I missed you,” he said, already unbuttoning his shirt with a crooked grin. “And I want you.”

“Oh, I’m not _complaining_ ,” you purred, scooting back on the bed as he tossed his shirt aside and crawled towards you with a dark look in his eyes.

“Come here,” he rasped, grabbing your ankle and tugging you towards him. “Did you miss me too, Kitten?”

“Always,” you whispered, arching your back and lifting your hips so that he could pull off your leggings.

“Don’t worry.” Dick grinned, shifting so that your legs were draped over his shoulders, fingers sinking into the scales on your thighs. “I’ll take good care of you.”

Shivering in anticipation, you let your fingers tangle in his thick hair, lashes fluttering as he kissed his way up your thighs. But he paused just at the apex, fingers curled in the new lace panties you’d put on. You glanced down at him, his eyes soft when he met your gaze.

“I love you,” he whispered, the words ghosting over your skin. “So much.”

“I love you, too,” you whispered back. Your toes curled against his bare back as you brushed hair back away from his face. “Happy birthday, Dick.”

“The only gift I could ever ask for,” he told you, voice soft and warm, “is for you to be with me always.”

Before you could respond, he’d pulled down your panties, mouth latched onto your clit. Words died on your tongue, replaced by a keening moan. Syrupy sweet warmth turned into burning lust as you abandoned yourself to him, eyes closed and cries of his name slipping from your tongue. For one short moment, you could have sworn you felt his lips curl into a sweet smile against you before he really dove in and drove all rational thought from your mind.

_\---_

Hours later, you lay on your stomach next to Dick, skin slick with sweat and still catching your breath. You were sore but sated, a tired smile on your lips as he gently massaged one of your wrists, thumbs brushing over the light bruising his tight grip had left on your wrist.

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice as light as his touch.

“Mm,” you hummed, shifting slightly and hooking one leg over his. “I’m good.”

“Do you want anything to snack on? Some water?” Dick pressed his lips to the marks on your wrist.

“Not right now,” you told him, basking in his warm after care. “But a warm bath might be nice.”

“With or without bubbles?”

“Without,” you murmured.

Dick carefully picked you up, cradling you close to him as he carried you into the bathroom. Setting you down on the counter, he knelt next to the tub, drawing a warm bath. You watched him, hugging your knees to your chest and smiling. When he glanced up at you, he smiled back, leaning against the side of the tub.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, tone playful.

“I’m just thinking about how blessed I am to have met you,” you told him, bold in your sincerity. “About how you take such good care of me. About how much I love you.”

Expression melting into one of heart-aching fondness, he stood up and crossed over to you. His skin was littered with little marks you’d left, careful claims that would fade with time. But when you pressed your palm over his heart, you knew that your real claim laid there, in the gentle rhythm of his heartbeat. Just as he had laid a claim on your own, your pulse speeding up as he bent to give you a tender, gentle kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck, let him guide your legs around his waist as he carried you to the bath.

The water embraced you both, helped some of the soreness ease from your limbs, washed away the sweat and left you brand new once more in his arms. Dick continued to pepper kisses on your face and the column of your throat, touch gentle as he washed your hair, combed out the wet strands with his deft, clever fingers. You melted into the touch, let him work knots out of your muscles, rested your cheek on his shoulder as you both simply rested in the bath, limbs tangled together.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” you whispered into his skin, chest swelling and threatening to burst with your love for him. “If you’d have me.”

There was no hesitation on Dick’s part. He held you closer, cradled you in his arms and let out a soft, pleased sigh.

“I would be honored,” he whispered back. “There’s no one else I’d ever want. Only you.”

Closing your eyes, you smiled. There was a familiar wicked little tug in your chest, a lure that wanted to pull you back to the dark waters of Bludhaven. A siren’s call, golden eyes waiting for you in the dark depths. But you ignored it.

You had everything you would ever need in that moment, the water embracing your tired bones and the man you loved keeping you safe in his arms.

“Happy birthday, Sunshine,” you whispered.

Dick Grayson pressed a soft, sweet kiss to your temple.

“To many more with you, Kitten.”

The water had given you many gifts. A second chance at life, friends who stood by your side, and a love that you knew would never end. 

You embraced them all, and slowly drifted off to the sweet lullaby in your soul, finally, blissfully at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's all, folks. it's kind of crazy to finally be finishing this fic after almost a year. i've come to really love koshka and dick a lot, and it's a little hard to let them go. they'll pop up in some of my other fics, of course, and i have some plans for a little collection of side stories. but it's a little bittersweet to end their story. 
> 
> thank you guys so much for taking this journey with me. i appreciate and love all of you. your sweet comments have really helped get me through some tough days. y'all mean the world to me, and i cannot thank you enough for reading my silly little stories. 
> 
> i've [set up a ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/difficultheart) to help keep me afloat while i try to find a new job. if you support me over there, drop a request in your message, and i'll write a drabble for you over on my tumblr. you can find some of the requests i've done [here!](https://spidergwenn.tumblr.com/tagged/violet-writes)
> 
> you can follow me on my [main tumblr](https://spidergwenn.tumblr.com/), my [writing/inspo tumblr](https://violettelee.tumblr.com/), or add me on discord (mynoghraa#8836) if you'd like to chat. 
> 
> love you guys. be safe, and be kind to yourselves.


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